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Loyalty of Langstreth 


A NOVEL. 


BY 


John R. V. Gilliat, 


AUTHOR OF “MRS. LESLIE AND MRS. LENNOX.” 


CH 


ICAGO: 


) 


MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO. 


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rx 







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Copyright, 

1892. 

MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO. 


W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, 
CHICAGO, 

PRINTERS ANO BINDERS. 






To 


Hugh Weguelin and Albert Stopford, 
In Remembrance of 
Many Pleasant English Days. 
1888—1892. 




"For the crown of our life as it closes 
Is darkness — the fruit of it dust; 

No thorns go as deep as the rose’s, 

And love is more cruel than lust. 

Time turns the old days to derision, 

Our loves into corpses or wives; 

And marriage and death and division 
Make barren our lives.” 

From: 

" Notre Dame des Sept Douleurs .” 


CHAPTER I. 


VERYBODY who knew Miss Chesinde 



realized that it was necessary for her to 
marry a rich man. She was thoroughly expen- 
sive. She looked costly as she entered a room. 
Luxury was the essential of her existence. 

Miss Chesinde herself, recognizing this fact, 
refused Archie Langstreth accordingly. 

“My dear boy,” she said kindly, “I don’t see 
how you can expect me to marry you. You 
are very handsome and very strong, but we 
cannot live upon a profile and biceps.” 

“I can work for you.” 

“Yes, I know,” she replied, “you can work, I 
suppose. But you never would make any 
money, never. How would you get on down 
in Wall street? A bull in a china shop would 
be nothing to it.” 

“A bear ‘on ‘Change’ might succeed,” said 
Langstreth. “Old Bob Harcourt said he’d 
give me a lift any time.” 

A little laugh parted Miss Chesinde’s lips, 


6 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“You are too delightful, Archie,” she told him. 
“Mr. Harcourt will give you an exceedingly 
good mayonnaise at the Savarin and will open a 
bottle of his choicest Burgundy for you, but he 
will not give you an income of a hundred 
thousand a year.” 

“A hundred thousand! Wouldn’t you marry 
me on less?” 

“Yes, you ,” she said. “I would marry you 
to-day with ten; but you haven’t got two. No, 
my friend, you and I were not born yesterday. 
Go to Mr. Harcourt and tell him that you 
want to make a fortune, so that you may be 
able to marry Viola Chesinde, and he will tell 
you you had better commit suicide by some 
easier method.” 

“Why do you talk like that?” Langstreth 
asked half angrily. 

“You and I must not talk like this , Archie,” 
she said with a smile. “We must face things 
as they are and meet the inevitable bravely. 
I must marry a rich man and you must marry 
a rich woman; or, perhaps, I might be able to 
save enough of my allowance for us to settle 
down quietly in about forty years.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 7 

“Then you don’t love me enough to marry 
me on ” 

“A profile?” she interrupted. “No, I do not. 
One might even love a man too much for that.” 

“But you do love me?” 

‘ Archie, we are talking of marriage.” 

Langstreth looked gloomy. He was big and 
fair and he had blue eyes, but his face suddenly 
became dark. 

“Tell me you love me,” he said as he took- 
her hand. 

“I shall not tell you that.” 

“Why not — if it is true?” 

“Why not?” repeated Miss Chesinde with a 
luxurious smile. “Well, because!” 

A little silver filigree clock struck the hour. 
It was five; they both counted the chime. 

“Well, because — ?” said Langstreth. 

“Heavens!” exclaimed Miss Chesinde, “what 
persistence. You remind me of my poor old 
aunt, the Countess Qu’appelle, who asked ques- 
tions all her life and died with raised eyebrows. 
She would ask why when she entered paradise.” 

“This isn’t exactly paradise for me,” said 
Archie. 


8 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Will you have a whisky and soda, then?” 
said Miss Chesinde, as she got up and rang the 
bell. “I am ready for tea,” she said to the 
servant who answered her summons. “And 
bring Mr. Langstreth the liquor case and some 
soda water.” 

“I don’t want anything to drink,” said 
Archie, sullenly, when they were alone again. 

“Very well; you need not have it. What do 
you want?” she asked. 

“I want you to tell me that you love me,” he 
replied. 

Miss Chesinde moved from one side of the 
ottoman to the other. She was silent a mo- 
ment as she followed the intricate traceries of 
the Persian rug with the narrow pointed toe of 
her slipper. 

“I shall not tell you that I love you,” she 
said slowly, with a little lingering tenderness in 
her tone — “for two reasons. One reason is that 
I am not going to marry you, and the other is 
that I am going to marry some one else. And 
I shall not give myself to another man having 
told you — that .” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


9 


“Then if it is true it is very sad. Neverthe- 
less I shall not say it.” 

“And what is to become of me?” asked 
Langstreth, as if he did not much care what 
became of himself. 

“Become of you?” said Miss Chesinde. “I 
do not want anything to become of you. You 
are very nice as you are. I would not have 
you change for anything. I shall keep you for 
my friend.” 

“I can not be your friend.” 

“My enemy? Archie!” 

“I shall be your lover, always,” he said. 

Miss Chesinde looked again at the pointed 
embroidered toes of her slippers. For one 
brief instant she felt that life was not worth 
this sacrifice which she was making. She was 
discarding happiness as if it were an old glove. 
She knew that she loved Langstreth, and she 
knew that happiness could come to her in no 
other way than by that of becoming his wife. 
The embroidered slippers seemed to smile 
mockingly up into her eyes. 

They were exceedingly pretty and had cost 
twenty dollars. Love will not pay for the 


10 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


caparison of beauty. There were a score of 
equally pretty, equally costly pairs upstairs. 
She could see them in her mind’s eye in a row 
like a glittering ballet. 

“Archie,” she said, breaking the silence. 
“You and I must not talk of love. It is not 
fair to ourselves or to each other.” 

“You need not be so considerate of me,” he 
replied; “I can bear it.” 

“Well, then, I can’t,” said Miss Chesinde. 
“And here is the tea.” 

A man servant entered and arranged the sil- 
ver service upon a low table which stood before 
a decorative screen, upon which Cupids were 
painted ambushed in roses. 

Miss Chesinde was nearly always at home 
at five o’clock. It was what she called “her 
own hour.” She seemed more luxurious, more 
opulent than at any other time. 

Langstreth thought her handsomer than 
ever as she left the low reclining couch which 
she had occupied, and trailed her soft draper- 
ies to a small straw chair at the side of the tea- 
table. She was dressed in rose-colored crepe, 
her throat and wrists buried in fluffy masses of 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


II 


silver fox. She left an indescribable aroma as 
she moved; vague, indistinct, subtle. 

“Come over here,” she said to her visitor, as 
she pointed to an ottoman tempting with many 
cushions. “Come and sit beside me and tell 
me what you have been doing since I saw you 
last. You are not a bit like yourself. Come, 
Archie, be a man.” 

“You treat me as if I were a child.” 

“You do not look like a child,” she said with 
an amused, flickering laugh. “You look like a 
gladiator. But I shall begin to think that 
muscle does not make a man. You are quite a 
boy; you are enfant gate. Now mix yourself 
a whisky and soda. I’ll let you smoke if you’ll 
promise to be good.” She drew his case from 
his pocket while she was speaking, and handed 
him a cigarette. “Now smile,” she said. 

“That is all I wanted,” said Langstreth, smil- 
ing at her bidding. “A cigarette and a whisky 
and soda. Such trifles as love have nothing 
to do with perfect happiness.” 

“Don’t be silly.” 

“That is cynicism, not silliness.” 

“And what philosopher can prove them un- 


12 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


like?” she asked. “If you are going to be- 
come pessimistic I shall send you home.” 

“I haven’t got a home.” 

“You’ve got a dozen clubs.” 

“By Jove!” exclaimed Langstreth, “I wish 
women had clubs. Then you would know how 
to value this.” 

“I do value it,” Miss Chesinde replied. “I 
value it very highly — ” She was going to add 
that she valued it altogether too much to lose, 
but refrained from wounding him. 

She had poured out her tea and was playing 
with her spoon. There was a moment of 
silence. Langstreth, watching the tiny bubbles 
chase each other from the bottom to the top of 
his glass, was contrasting his own lonely bache- 
lor home with the luxury of his present sur- 
roundings. 

“Oh! — here is Aunt Edith,” said Miss Ches- 
inde, as the hall door closed heavily. “She is 
early. I did not hear the carriage drive up. 
Now, Archie, be nice to her because she is so 
good to me.” 

“I’m good to you, too,” retorted Langstreth, 
“f^ut that does not make you nice to me,” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 3 

“Not? Why, you’re the only man in the 

whole world I Oh ! Aunt Edith, is that you ? 

Come in and have your tea,” as the portieres 
were drawn aside. “No one is here except Mr. 
Langstreth.” 

Mrs. Clandon entered voluminously. She 
was very large and retained the remnants of 
beauty by a certain gracious dismissal of 
youth. 

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Langstreth,” she 
said with raised lorgnon. “Make my tea very 
weak, Viola. My nerves are everywhere to- 
day. Has Guy come in?” 

Miss Chesinde poured out a cup of weak tea 
which Langstreth handed to Mrs. Clandon, and 
neither of them made any definite attempt at 
conversation. 

“It is a horrid day,” went on Mrs. Clandon 
as she sipped her tea. “Paderewski played 
divinely at the Vanhoffman’s. Everybody was 
there. No end of smart frocks. Do you 
know, Alys Vanhoffman received with a crown 
on her head. You should have gone, Viola.” 

“Oh! we have been very comfortable and 
very happy here,” said Miss Chesinde, at 


14 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


which Mrs. Clahdon raised her eyebrows with 
incredulous surprise. 

It was not long before Langstreth discovered 
that it was “getting late.” 

“How I have stayed on,” he said apologeti- 
cally. “You see that is the penalty you pay 
for being so hospitable and having such a 
charming house, Mrs. Clandon.” 

“Not a word for the niece,” said Miss Ches- 
inde. 

Langstreth shook hands. “When shall I 
see you again?” he asked. 

“Whenever you choose to come at this hour. 
I am going to the Willoughby’s on Thursday, 
but post-Lenten gaieties are doleful at best. 
Besides, you and I do not need excuses to 
meet.” 

Then they said good-bye. 

“I think you are very free and easy with Mr. 
Langstreth,” said Mrs. Clandon, when the hall 
door had closed. “It seems a little — well, a 
little fast, I might say, to give a man whisky 
in the library. I wonder where Guy is.” 

“At the Knickerbocker — a hundred to one,” 
said Miss Chesinde carelessly. “As for that 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 5 

other matter I am not at all free and easy with 
Archie Langstreth. We are simply good 
friends. And the soda water and whisky — 
well, he doesn’t like tea and I felt inclined to 
make him feel at home.” 

“He seemed very much at home,” Mrs. Clan- 
don replied. “If he were anything but an in- 
eligible it might be different. But it is so dan- 
gerous for a girl to have her name coupled 
with a man like that. It keeps off other men.” 

“The farther off the better in some cases,” 
said Viola. “Archie Langstreth is twenty 
times the man most of them are.” 

“Why, my dear, he’s as poor as — as — ” 

“I am speaking of men — not gold mines,” 
said Miss Chesinde opulently. “And mention- 
ing the latter reminds me of Guy. Here 
he is.” 

Guy Clandon was regarded as a very great 
person in New York. He was twenty-four 
years old and he was worth ten millions. He 
had said once in Miss Chesinde’s presence 
that he could marry any girl he knew, and she 
had told him that he was mistaken. 

He entered the little elaborate library and 


l6 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

stood for an instant with the heavy portiere 
clutched in his hand. 

“What the devil is the matter with Lang- 
streth?” he asked unsteadily. 

“Matter?” inquired Mrs. Clandon. 

“He must be drunk,” said Guy. “I passed 
him just now on the steps and he hardly spoke 
to me. He acts as if he were the Lord Al- 
mighty.” 

“I should think he would feel disappointed 
in some of his creation, then,” said Miss Ches- 
inde as she got up and passed her cousin in 
the doorway. 

“Viola — I say — ” 

“You can not say it now,” she replied as she 
began to ascend the stairs. “It is time for me 
to dress.” 

She went to her room and called her maid. 
Then in silence she sat down before her mir- 
ror and resigned herself to her toilet. 

She suddenly became aware of some one 
looking at her from the outer room from 
which her dressing-room opened. 

“Jove! what lovely hair,” said a voice that 
was indistinct and uncertain. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


1 / 


“Thank you,” replied Miss Chesinde without 
turning her head. In the mirror she could see 
Clandon as he stood in the doorway. 

“We shall be alone at dinner,” he said. “The 
mater is going out.” While he spoke he stead- 
ied himself with difficulty, and held on to a 
screen with his right hand for support. 

“What is the matter, Guy,” she asked, still 
viewing him in the glass. “You look ill.” 

“Club and cocktails,” he answered, 

wetting his dry lips with his tongue. 

“You would better go and take a cold bath,” 
said Miss Chesinde with indifference. “I have 
heard that is a good remedy.” 

“You are not angry?” he asked. 

“Angry? No. But you must go away now 
and dress. It is late. No, Guy, you can not 
come in here. I have been very obliging even 
to let you stand at the door; another time I 
shall tell Lucie to shut it.” 

“Lucie would not do it,” he said with a leer. 
“You are not angry with me for being drunk, 
are you, Viola?” 

“You are not drunk,” said Miss Chesinde. 

“And, on general principles, I do not care in 
2 


1 8 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

the least whether you are or not; but I should 
be very angry indeed if you came into my pres- 
ence while you were so.” 

“That’s all right. You’re a good girl, Viola,” 
he said as he walked away unsteadily. 

“Shut the door, Lucie,” Miss Chesinde com- 
manded, “and open the windows in the other 
room.” 

She felt, suddenly, as if she should suffocate. 
Her head swam. She wished that by the mere 
closing of her door she could shut herself away 
from everybody forever. Men seemed odious 
to her — except one man, whose love she had 
resigned. Her lips trembled with a smileless 
sigh. 

When the maid returned she found Miss 
Chesinde standing in the middle of the room. 
Her stockinged feet showed below the lowest 
fold of her gown. In her hand she held the 
embroidered slippers with their pointed toes. 
The thin soles were broken in half between toe 
and heel. 

“Take these away,” she said indolently; 
“they have hurt me all the afternoon. I have 
always hatbd them,” 


CHAPTER II. 


For some time Miss Chesinde said nothing 
while Lucie arranged her hair. 

“I wish I were a queen,” she said at length, 
“and you should be one of my dressing-women, 
Lucie. The queen of England has three, but I 
should have three hundred.” 

When it became necessary to put on her 
dress, she said: 

“I am going to wear that cloth-of-silver to- 
night, Lucie; the new one. I am tired to 
death of everything. If I were a queen I 
should never wear a dress but once. They 
should be your perquisites, Lucie.” 

She stood in front of her long mirrors when 
her toilet was complete. “That is almost 
regal,” she declared, smiling. “If I only had a 
diadem! Where is the flight of butterflies, the 
diamonds and sapphires?” 

“Those which Mr. Guy gave you?” asked 
Lucie. 


19 


20 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Yes; I haven’t a hundred sets of diamonds 
and sapphires.” 

The butterflies were forthcoming. They 
formed a crown, of brilliant wings and azure 
bodies, which was worthy of a sovereign. 
Lucie fastened them in the golden masses of 
Miss Chesinde’s hair. 

“How do I look?” she inquired, as she 
started to descend to the drawing-room. 

“You must ask Mr. Guy,” said the maid. 

The drawing-room was empty except for 
Berrie, the butler, who, as soon as Miss Ches- 
inde entered, approached her with a great 
bunch of cut roses. 

“These were left for you a moment ago,” he 
said. 

“Was there no name, no card?” 

“Linton opens the door at this hour, ma’am. 
He said there wasn’t any name left. Shall I 
send for Lucie to take them?” 

“No — that is, yes,” said Miss Chesinde, as 
she drew out the largest rose among them. 
“You may take them to her, Berrie, and tell 
her they are to go upon my dressing table. 
At what time is dinner?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


21 


“Dinner is served now, whenever Mr. Clan- 
don is ready.” 

“Is he not ready?” 

“He has been ringing all the bells in the 
house, ma’am,” replied Berrie, solemnly. “He’s 
got John and Buttons helping him now.” 

“That is all, then,” said Miss Chesinde. 
“Send word to Mr. Clandon that I am wait- 
ing. Heavens!” she said to herself when she 
was alone, “what a life.” She held the single 
rose in her hand and she pressed it to her lips 
unconsciously. A drop of water clinging to 
its leaves felt cool upon her mouth. 

“He has only two thousand a year,” she 
soliloquized, “and yet he sends me roses which 
cost a dollar apiece.” 

Then she sat down wearily with a sigh. 

“It would not be fair to him,” she said to 
herself again; “not fair to him. He is gener- 
ous, and it would torture him to deny me the 
luxuries of life. He would be miserable in a 
month.” 

Miss Chesinde had no fortune. Her father 
and mother had both died in her infancy, and 
Mr ' ’^ndon, her mother’s sister, had insti- 


\ 


22 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

tuted herself as protector. Having no daugh- 
ters of her own, and discovering that Viola 
was beautiful, she was pleased to find her 
duties as chaperon light and agreeable. But 
she had let her niece know from childhood 
that her future must be in her own hands. 

“I have no money, my dear,” she used to say 
to her. “I never did have any, but I made my 
own future. While I live, Viola, you shall 
have a home with me, and an allowance. But 
you must remember that everything belongs to 
Guy. I am only a pensioner. I simply have 
my widow’s mite during my lifetime.” 

The widow’s mite was the income at a big 
per cent, of two millions. 

To do Mrs. Clandon justice she was very 
kind to her sister’s child. She gave her every 
luxury that money could procure, and as much 
of affection and sympathy as was in her to be- 
stow. But Miss Chesinde had understood long 
ago that her future must be of her own making. 

Therefore, sitting in the brilliant white and 
gold drawing-room, she resolved to dismiss the 
image of Langstreth from her mind. 

It was not an easy task. She could see him 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 23 

standing before her, strong, erect, with a re- 
proach in his eyes. How blue they were; and 
they said to her, “I love you.” 

‘‘Qh! Archie,” she said aloud, “it is impossible. 
You must go away. Thank you — dear, for the 
roses;” then she kissed the rose she held, pas- 
sionately. 

A few minutes afterward Guy Clandon came 
in. 

“Dinner is ready,” he said a little vaguely, 
as if he were talking through a telephone. “I 
am sorry to have kept you waiting. John is a 
fool.” 

“What has he done?” 

“He ordered my button-hole of orchids in- 
stead of gardenias,” said Clandon. “Everybody 
in New York knows I always wear gardenias.” 

“I should think you would like to give every- 
body a surprise then,” said Miss Chesinde, as 
she glanced at the white flower and recognized 
the cause of her delayed dinner. “I should 
dislike to have everybody know my prefer- 
ences. If I were you I should wear a thistle.” 

“It would be such an ugly fashion to set,” 
he replied sententiously. 


24 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Berrie held the portieres open and they 
entered the dining-room together. 

Guy Clandon was tall and fair, with washed- 
out grey eyes and a complexion of chalk. He 
was very thin and stooped habitually, which 
gave him the appearance of illness. Except 
for a certain innate refinement and delicacy of 
feature he had nothing outwardly to recom- 
mend him, yet people called him good looking. 
His coats were beyond criticism and his boots 
were marvels. He wore a slight moustache, 
which was so pale as to be indistinguishable in 
the distance and seemed only to grow slowly 
as he approached. 

“If that cook can’t clear the soup better 
than this,” he said to the butler, when they had 
taken their seats, “you had better send him 
away.” 

“You might dine at one of your clubs or at 
Delmonico’s,” suggested Miss Chesinde. 

“I don’t flatter myself that you care for my 
society.” 

“I was only thinking of you, Guy,” she an- 
swered. “The soup seems very nice to me, 
Do yon feel better than you did?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 25 

“Yes; I took your advice.” 

“You mean you took a cold bath?” 

“Ice-cold.” 

“You should be careful. I am not sure that 
I should have recommended it if I had believed 
in your obedience. It is very dangerous.” 

“If I were to die you would not be sorry.” 

“Why not?” she asked. “I am not your 
heir.” 

Clandon laughed consciously. He felt his 
importance with every breath he drew. “I 
suppose I ought to be thinking of marriage,” 
he said slowly, continuing the thought of his 
heirless demise. 

“That is what the mothers of a great many 
girls are thinking that you should do,” said 
Miss Chesinde. 

This was perfectly true. Guy Clandon was 
the bull’s eye in the matrimonial target at 
which all scheming mothers aimed. 

“He is the biggest catch in New York,” Mrs. 
Thorncroft-Thorne had once declared to her 
daughter. “He has half a million a year, and 
is sure to drink himself tQ death before he is 
thirty,” 


26 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTREf H. 


To which Miss Evelyn Thorne had replied 
that she was sick to death of Guy Clandon’s 
name. “How is a girl to catch a man,” she 
asked irritably, “who knows more about cock- 
tails than he does about cotillions?” 

When dinner was over Miss Chesinde ordered 
her coffee in the small drawing-room. 

“I suppose you will go out,” she said to Guy. 
“Have you anything on to-night?” 

“The Eresbys have a dance,” he answered, 
“but I am not going. May I take my coffee 
with you, Viola?” 

“Of course,” she replied graciously enough, 
as she gave the order to the butler. “I decided 
on the little room on account of the piano, but 
if you like we can go into the library where 
you can smoke.” 

“No; I do not care to smoke yet. Later I 
shall go to the club. Are you going anywhere ?” 

Miss Chesinde was dressed as if she were 
going to a ball. “I am going to bed,” she said, 
“at about ten o’clock.” 

“You look like a queen,” Guy said as 
they went up the wide stairs into the softly 
shaded room where the coffee was served. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


27 


It was an elaborate little room, decorated 
a la Louis Quinze, comfortable and luxurious 
as well. Miss Chesinde chose a huge chair 
that stood in a corner and had for a back- 
ground a rare piece of tapestry and a jungle of 
palms. * 

“That is your throne,’’ said Clandon, as he 
placed a footstool at her feet with mock obei- 
sance. 

She felt for an instant almost pleased with 
her cousin. The pallor of his face seemed to 
indicate delicacy more than dissipation. Her 
own health was so perfect that she suddenly 
felt a strange, uncompromising pity for weak- 
ness. 

“I wish you wouldn’t drink so much,” she 
said to him. 

“I know; it is a bad thing. But every one 
does it. There isn’t anything else to do.” 

“Oh, if you feel that way,” she said, with a 
shrug, returning at once to her indifference. 

“Besides, no orie cares.” 

“There you are wrong,” replied Miss Ches- 
inde. “Aunt Edith cares and I care.” 

Berrie entered bearing the coffee service; 


28 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


behind him the Buttons with sugar and the 
liqueurs. 

It struck the half hour after nine. “I will 
have the brougham at ten, Berrie,” said Clan- 
don, as he dismissed the servants. 

There followed a moment of silence, in 
which there was a little rattle of coffee spoons. 
Guy tossed a dash of fine champagne into his 
cup. 

“Viola,” he said, “you are wearing my 
rose.” 

Miss Chesinde’s hand went suddenly to her 
breast, as if there were pain there where the 
rose lay. 

“Yours!” 

“Certainly,” he answered, stirring his coffee 
slowly. “Did you not get the roses I sent?” 

“Oh! — they came,” she said mechanically. 
“I forgot to thank you for them, Guy; but — 
thank you, now.” 

“Your wearing one is thanks enough.” 

“You are very kind; the roses are beautiful.” 
Nevertheless, as she spoke she drew the flower 
from the chiffon at her bosom and held it half 
reluctantly between her fingers. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 29 

She felt suddenly as if some great sorrow 
had befallen her, and then, after a moment’s 
hesitation, she laid the rose gently upon the 
table beside her. 

A sense of despair swept over her. “I think 
I will go to my room,” she said, rising, “I feel 
tired— ill.” 

Clandon got up, too. There was a look in 
his pale face which had never been there be- 
fore. 

“Viola,” he said, going to her side, but with- 
out raising his voice, “I love you; I cannot 
make you a queen, but I can give you what a 
queen would have — riches and power — if you 
will be my wife.” 

They confronted each other in silence. The 
flush that dyed her face gave her a new love- 
liness in his sight. 

“I know I am not much of a fellow,” he 
went on in a low voice, which seemed to reach 
out toward her as his arms did, “but perhaps 
you can make something of me if you will con- 
sent to try.” 

The whole phantasma of her life enrolled be- 
fore her, future and past. This was the rich 


30 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


marriage she must make. This was her future. 
It had come. She closed her eyes to see more 
clearly. 

This was her future and she must stretch out 
her hand to take it. She did stretch out her 
hand with a little blind gesture, and Guy met 
it half way with both his own. 

“Thank you,” she said unsteadily, “I will 
marry you.” 

Then she moved away from him in the 
direction of the hall, pausing in the curtained 
doorway. 

“Bring me my rose,” she said as she turned 
to him with a movement full of sweetness in- 
dicating the flower she had left upon the table. 
Then she went to his side' again and drew the 
white gardenia from the lapel of his coat. “You 
must wear roses now and all the world will 
see that you have foregone gardenias for my 
sake.” 

“Give me one kiss, Viola,” he besought, 
roused to boldness by her manner. 

She stood perfectly still, as a prisoner stands 
to receive the chains, while Clandon put his 
lips against hers. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


31 


In another instant, with a whispered good- 
night, she fled up stairs. 

Locked in her own room, she suddenly be- 
came aware of a sensation of positive elation. 

“I am to be a queen,” she told Lucie, who 
combed out her golden hair. “I am going to 
have a crown on my head and sit on a throne 
and the whole world shall bow down to me.” 

The prospect was dazzling. 

“Lucie,” she said abruptly, with a little 
catching of her breath, “you may go now. I 
want to be alone; and those roses, you may 
take them away. Put them — anywhere.” 


CHAPTER III. 


The next day the engagement was an- 
nounced. 

Mrs. Clandon expressed her approval. She 
confided to Guy that he had acted wisely and 
she told Viola that she had done well. 

It was arranged that the marriage should 
take place at Newport in August, and accord- 
ingly Mrs. Clandon proposed a short sojourn 
abroad during the intervening months. 

“ We will have a little taste of the London 
season,” she said to Viola, “ and then there is 
your lingerie to be got and M. Worth to be con- 
sulted, and in July Guy can join us and bring 
us home.” 

So the matter was settled and Miss Chesinde 
was fain to acknowledge that the parting with 
her fiance was not terrible. 

To do Clandon justice, however, he was 
honestly proud of his conquest; and during the 
three days’ interval between the announcement 
of his engagement and Miss Chesinde’s depart- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 33 

ure, he limited himself at cocktails and bore 
himself with the dignity befitting his changed 
estate. But before the steamer was well in the 
offing he felt the exhilaration of regained free- 
dom, and his clubs and pet cafes held out their 
allurements once more. 

About this time he met Langstreth one after- 
noon on the avenue. 

‘ H-ow are you,” he said to him good-natur- 
edly. “Haven’t seen you for ages. What 
would you say to a cocktail, eh?” 

“ I should say no to the cocktail and thank 
you to you,” said Archie. “ I am just bound 
to Mrs. Flodden-Field’s.” 

“ Give her my love,” said Clandon as he 
hailed a hansom. “ I might go myself only I 
can’t drink tea; it gets on my nerves.” 

“ By the way, I haven’t congratulated you 
yet,” said Langstreth as he made an effort to 
hold out his hand naturally. “ I do congratu- 
late you most heartily. You have won a woman 
worth winning.” 

“Oh! thanks,” said Guy. “I know you and 
Viola were great friends.” 

“I did not see Miss Chesinde before she 
3 


34 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


sailed or I should have congratulated her,” 
Langstreth went on; “and I have been trying to 
decide whether our degree of friendship would 
permit the liberty of a letter.” 

“I dare say she would be glad to hear from 
you if you care to write. They will be at 
Thomas’, Berkeley Square, for a month.” 

“Well, I won’t keep you,” said Langstreth 
as the hansom wheeled up. 

“Sorry you won’t come along,” Clandon 
called out as he climbed into the cab, and the 
two men waved a mutual farewell. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field was very fashionable. 
Her house was one of the most charming in 
New York, and she herself was one of the most 
charming women. She could afford by the 
right of ancestry and prestige to draw her lines 
where she chose, and she knew just where to 
draw them. It was useless to cavil at her 
decrees. 

To Langstreth she had long ago extended her 
confidence and her friendship; therefore when 
he found himself ascending the three low steps 
which led from the street to her door he felt 
almost as if he were going home. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 35 

Mrs. Flodden-Field was in the drawing-room 
as he entered; she rose from her low reclining 
chair and advanced to meet him with an out- 
stretched hand and a pretty smile of welcome 
on her lips and in her eyes. 

“If I had been choosing something quite de- 
lightful,” she exclaimed, “it would have been a 
visit from you.” 

“I believe in you so implicitly that I must 
believe that,” said Archie, laughing. “You 
will make me a splendid egotist if you are not 
careful. May I ring for tea?” 

“ Is it five o’clock already? I had no idea it 
was so late. I must have dreamed the hours 
away.” 

“ I met Clandon on the avenue,” said Lang- 
streth as he touched the bell, “and I refused his 
club hospitality for this of your’s. The tea, 
therefore, becomes a matter of conscience.” 

“ There are such things as decanters,” sug- 
gested his hostess; “and speaking of — decant- 
ers, how is Mr. Clandon?” 

“Better than usual, I am afraid.” 

“ Oh! well, never mind,” said Mrs. Flodden- 
Field, sympathetically. “ So you have let 


36 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

Viola Chesinde engage herself to him. I 
should not have believed that of you.” 

“I should not have believed it of her. But it 
was not my fault.” 

“ Archie Langstreth, how silly you can be ! ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Flodden-Field in the tone of an 
oracle. “You dare to sit here and tell me that. 
Why, I would rather marry your little finger 
than twenty Guy Clandons.” 

“ One is bad enough,” said Langstreth, 
grimly. 

“Yet you have let her do it.” 

“She has not done it yet, but I shall not pre- 
vent her.” 

“You ought to. There is plenty of time. She 
is only engaged to him.” 

“The fact that she is engaged to him is 
enough,” said Langstreth. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field knew perfectly well that 
Langstreth loved Miss Chesinde, and she was 
none the less honest in her avowed friendship 
for Viola in that, in this instance she gave all 
her sympathy to him. 

“Are you going to sit down calmly and let 
her marry that — that cousin?” she asked. Her 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 37 

tone would have led a foreigner to believe that 
a cousin might mean a cannibal. 

“I certainly haven’t been calm,” asserted 
Archie. “I paced my room for three nights 
and very nearly took to drink.” 

“Well,” she exclaimed with a quaint gesture 
of disgust, “perhaps that would have been 
wise. That sort of thing seems to be attract- 
ive.” 

“Oh, that is not fair to Miss Chesinde.” 

“Has she been fair to you?” asked Mrs. 
Flodden-Field. “She isn’t fair even to her- 
self.” 

“I did my best,” said Langstreth, rising and 
moving restlessly about the room. “I told her 

I loved her.” 

* 

Mrs. Flodden-Field’s eyelids trembled vague- 
ly for an instant at his words. 

“You ought to have told her that she loved 
you. I gave you more credit for diplomacy, 
my friend,” she said, with, the conviction of 
superior wisdom and long experience. “You 
might tell her you loved her till doomsday. 
Every man living tells every woman that, and 
we grow used to it in time. Women love ty- 


38 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


rants, not slaves. A great big fellow like you! 
Why, if worst came to worst, you could run 
away with her bodily.” 

“The worst has come,” said Langstreth 
slowly, “but I shall not run away with Clan- 
don’s wife.” 

A moment’s pause followed. 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Flodden-Feld, break- 
ing a thoughtful silence, “I shall make a fight 
for it. I do not intend to have you two people 
make each other miserable for life. I shall let 
Viola get her trousseau, because Edith Clan- 
don will pay for it. Then she shall marry 
you.” 

Langstreth got up and walked across the 

room. He took up a bowl which was said to 

# 

have belonged to each of the consecutive wives 
of Henry VIII. and examined it carefully. 
Then he resumed his seat beside Mrs. Flodden- 
Field’s tea-table. 

“You know I have loved Miss Chesinde,” he 
said. “I have loved her desperately. But I 
would not marry her now — now — ” 

“Not to save her from shame — yourself from 
life-long sorrow?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


39 


“No. Not even that — now. I offered her 
everything; my manhood, my honor, my love, 
but she cast them aside for a man that can 
give her none of these.” He Jiad grown as 
pale as death while he was speaking. He 
looked strangely weak as he sat there in his 
splendid youth and strength bowed down with 
the shadow of more than mortal pain. 

“Oh, Archie!” whispered the woman at his 
side. “I am sorry — so sorry. You must try 
to ” 

“I have tried.” 

“I know it is hard. It is cruel,” she said, 
tenderly, putting one of her hands over his. 
“Perhaps, at last, it may all come right.” 

“It will come right if she makes a good wife 
to the man she marries,” said Langstreth, 
firmly. “And I shall always be a friend to her 
and — to — him.” 

“You are a brave man,” Mrs. Flodden-Field 
told him as she poured out another cup of tea. 

Nevertheless, that night Langstreth resolved 
to write to Miss Chesinde. 

He had dined alone at his club, avoiding 
even the men he knew and liked best. The 


40 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


clatter in the reading-room annoyed him, and 
he passed into the silence of the writing-room 
with a sigh of relief. 

He sat at the table a long time, with a blank 
sheet of paper before him and his pen in his 
hand, considering — not so much at a loss what 
to say as how to say it. 

There was no envy, hatred or malice, nor 
any uncharitableness in his heart. He could 
think of Miss Chesinde tenderly, although he 
thought of her no longer as the woman he 
loved. 

“I have loved you,” he would have said to 
her, and he would have said nothing else. “ I 
have loved her,” he said to his own heart. And 
he believed that he should never love any 
other woman while he lived. 

Therefore he wrote: 

“I am sorry you did not let me see you once 
again before you went away. Perhaps you were 
wise. I am wondering whether you were kind. 
I have already told Clandon that I consider 
him the luckiest man in the world, and have 
shaken his hand. For you I wish every joy.” 

He did not post this letter at once. He 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


41 


acknowledged his weakness in realizing the 
fact that there was a sense of pleasure in pos- 
sessing something which bore her name. He 
read the name over and over again: Miss 
Viola Chesinde. 

It was about eleven o’clock when he decided 
to go home. In passing through the hall the 
steward gave him a note which had been left 
during the day, and at the same time asked if 
he should mail the letter which he had just 
written. Again Langstreth read the address: 
Miss Viola Chesinde. 

“No,” he said to the servant, “it is not sealed; 
to-morrow will be time enough. It is for the 
foreign post.” 

He went out and began his walk down the 
avenue slowly. Thoughts chased each other 
disconnectedly through his brain. Once he 
passed a man whom he knew and failed to 
return his greeting, and again when a beggar 
accosted him he waved his hand absently with 
the familiar “How are you, old man,” and 
walked on. 

His rooms were dark. He struck a match 
and lighted a lamp upon his writing table. As 


42 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


the swift glare flooded the room his eyes 
sought instinctively the address on the letter 
he had written, and for the first time he remem- 
bered the letter which had been given to him 
at the club. 

He broke the seal, and not recognizing the 
handwriting he turned to the signature before 
reading the words. It was from Guy Clandon. 

A vague sensation of sickness came over him 
as he held the two letters in his hand; the one 
to the woman he had loved, and the other 
from the man who was to be her husband. 

Clandon’s note was short. It was a request 
that Langstreth should dine with him on the 
following Sunday and meet a “jolly crowd.” 

“My bachelorhood has been pretty game,” he 
wrote, “and dies hard. I’ve got three months 
in which to kill and bury it before settling 
down to domestic respectability.” 

The tone of the letter grated upon Lang- 
streth. He was not a prig. He had known 
his share of life and enjoyed its good things. 
He was not prone to deny himself the luxuries 
which fell in his path; he was the sort of man 
whom women admired and for whom some 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 43 

women had made sacrifices; but those words 
about bachelorhood and respectability enraged 
him. 

Notwithstanding, he sent an answer to Clan- 
don accepting his invitation. 

Before he went to bed he added a few lines 
to those he had written to Miss Chesinde. 

“I have just received a note from Clandon, 
he dashed off at the foot of the page, “asking 
me to dine with him on Sunday. And, paren- 
thetically, don’t you think you could drop me 
a few lines? I think, indeed, you owe me that 
from a strictly conventional point of view as 
you have never thanked me for the roses I 
sent you the day I saw you last.” 

Then he went to bed. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Guy Clandon’s engagement created quite 
a stir on the matrimonial board. Marriage 
bonds took a tumble and several debutantes 
fell off half a dozen points. 

Miss Evelyn Thorne felt the reaction the 
most severely, in as much as her name had 
been kept before the public constantly in con- 
nection with Clandon’s. 

When the announcement was made, Mrs. 
Thorncroft Thorne suffered from acute neu- 
ralgia for two days and refused to be com- 
forted, even by the latest fad in fashionable 
physicians who attended her armed with 
aristocratic anodynes. 

On the third day, however, she rose superior 
to her chagrin and her neuralgia, and went so 
far as to be able to partake of a mayonnaise of 
lobster and some dry Pommery for luncheon. 
But poor Evelyn, who had not suffered — at 
least from neuralgia — only sniffed delicacies 
from afar. 


44 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 45 

Nevertheless, when Mrs. Clandon took Miss 
Chesinde Europeward using that time-worn 
excuse that since M. Worth would not come to 
her, she, like Mohammed, must go to him — 
then Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne scented danger 
in the air. 

“Now that they have left poor Guy alone,” 
she said to Evelyn, “we must try to make him 
at home, my dear. I think I shall give a little 
dinner, quite a family affair, and ask him to 
come.” 

Accordingly in one of the days that followed 
she met Clandon somewhere and button-holed 
him at once. 

“Poor boy,” she said to him consolingly, “so 
they have deserted you. I never pass that 
great palace of yours without thinking how 
lonely you must be.” 

Guy was not at all lonely for reasons known 
to himself and some of his friends; but he had 
been gate from his childhood and he enjoyed 
being fussed over by Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne, 
who soon convinced him that he was a martyr. 

“I call it positively heartless,” she declared. 
“If /were engaged to you, do you suppose I 


4 6 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


should run away to Paris? I should run away 
with you.” 

This was very foxy indeed of Mrs. Thorn- 
croft Thorne, and Guy did not lose the oppor- 
tunity of pressing her gloved hand dexterously, 
with that little show of secrecy which is dear 
to the hearts of the mothers of marriageable 
girls. 

“And when are you coming to see us?” she 
pursued. “Evelyn was saying to-day that you 
must make our house your home. Can you 
come to dinner on Sunday night?” 

But Sunday was already disposed of. Guy 
lied bravely and declared he was awfully sorry. 

“Ah! Cela ne fait rien?” she exclaimed, with 
a third empire gesture; “ Alors , come on Satur- 
day; will you come on Saturday at eight?” 

Clandon thought vaguely of a little poker 
party which was under contemplation. 

“And after dinner we will have a little poker,” 
cried Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne with clairvoy- 
ance born of desperation, and veneering her 
words with a smile. “We will have a little 
game of poker in the fumoir and a petit souper 
about midnight; will you come?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 47 

Thus it was settled, and Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne went home vaguely conjecturing where 
she should go to when she died. 

“I call it silly,” said Evelyn, when her mother 
told her what she had done. “What is the use 
of bothering over Guy Clandon now. He is 
over and done for.” 

“There is many a slip,” she quoted, with an 
impressive air, as if she were delivering an 
axiom of the prophets. 

“There can’t be any slip in this case,” said 
Evelyn. 

“The winds and the waves obey Him,” re- 
plied Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne clerically. “And 
God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. You 
are a shorn lamb, my dear. There is always a 
chance that the ship may go down.” 

“Mamma! How can you say such things?” 

But Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s heart had 
hardened like the hearts of the Egyptians. 

“Well, my dear,” she said, “accidents do 
happen and people are dying every day. If 
ships must go down I see no harm in backing 
some particular ship.” 

This was all that was said upon the subject. 


48 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Before many days, however, everybody knew 
that Mrs. Clandon and Miss Chesinde had ar- 
rived safe in London; but Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne still barnacled to hope and began to 
calculate the possibilities of danger on the 
return voyage. 


CHAPTER V. 


On Sunday evening when Langstreth pre- 
sented himself at the appointed place and 
hour, an obsequious waiter ushered him into a 
small ante-chamber situated between two large 
and brilliantly-lighted rooms. In one of these 
a table was set for about a dozen people, while 
from the other proceeded laughter and inter- 
rupted music. 

A strange sense of unfitness took possession 
of Langstreth’s mind. 

Almost immediately Clandon advanced to 
meet him. He had evidently been drinking 
and already looked disordered. “How goes 
v it?” he said to his guest and shook his hand 
unsteadily. 

Langstreth, standing before a mirror, was 
fastening some violets in his coat. “Whom 
have you dining?” he asked, trying to speak 
indifferently. 

“Pussy Le Clare for one, and a jolly set. 
They are all clamoring for you.” 

4 49 


50 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETIL 


“Who? Pussy Le Clare?” 

“Yes, why not?” asked Clandon, sobering 
momentarily as Langstreth faced him. 

This, then, was what was meant by the death 
and burial of bachelorhood. 

Miss Pussy Le Clare was the bright and 
shining light at the Casino and appeared 
nightly before an enthusiastic audience, attired 
in red tights and diamond butterflies. 

“Besides,” went on Clandon, “we’ve got Vio- 
let Vardemonde, who has just come over with 
the London Hilarity Company. She is a 
screamer.” 

Some one at that instant began to sing, “For 
I’m the Only Original Guy,” to the apparent 
enjoyment of the roomful. 

“That’s she,” exclaimed Clandon with en- 
thusiasm. 

“She is certainly a screamer,” said Lang- 
streth, not moving after his host, who had 
started to join the revelers. 

“Come along,” he urged. “You look a regu- 
lar daisy. We will swing right in.” 

In the act of swinging Langstreth stopped 
him. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


5 


“I say, Clandon,” he began, “I did not 
quite understand about your party to-night. 
You know I am not a monk by any means, but 
this sort of thing does not amuse me. Pussy 
Le Clare is all very well on the stage, but she 
can’t possibly be charming at dinner. Now, I 
want you to let me off, No one will miss me, 
and I should only be a wet blanket on the. 
fun. There are a lot more men in there than — 
than women, and I should not pull well with 
the crowd. You understand, I’m sure.” 

Clandon’s mind was never very clear, but 
Langstreth had stated his case beyond miscon- 
struction. 

“It looks confoundedly odd,” said Guy. 
“Why don’t you like Pussy?” 

“I don’t know her, but that is not the ques- 
tion ” 

“She is my friend,” Clandon averred with 
determination. 

“Perhaps,” said Langstreth. “I only hope 
you will find her so. But I do not care to 
make her an acquaintance of mine, and I am 
sorry to find her here to-night.” 

“You are thinking of Viola Chesinde,” said 


52 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Guy, as Miss Vardemonde in the next room 
began to sing “Le petit accident.” 

“I should find it impossible to think of Miss 
Chesinde here at all.” 

“Why don’t you call her Viola,” said Clan- 
don. “You needn’t mind me.” 

Langstreth colored hotly. “There is no 
occasion to speak of Miss Chesinde by any 
name,” he replied with emphasis. “And now 
if you will permit me I will leave you to join 
your guests.” He was angry but controlled 
himself forcibly. 

“Hell!” said Clandon; and turning on his 
heel he left him alone. 

Before Langstreth had closed the door of 
the smaller room as he made his exit, a 
loud laugh reached his ears and he knew that 
those men and women were making coarse 
jokes at the expense of his manliness, and he 
smiled scornfully. 

Then a small hand touched his arm and a 
low voice spoke his name; turning, he saw 
Pussy Le Clare at his side. She was very pretty 
and she had curved her full red lips into a smile 
of child-like innocence. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 53 

“ I am sorry you are going away,” she said 
in a voice whose modulation was delicious. “It 
seems rather humiliating for — me” 

Langstreth could not repress an expression 
of pity and surprise as he gazed at the quiet, 
refined-looking woman who stood beside him. 
Could this be that same creature who disported 
herself nightly in semi-nudity before an eager- 
eyed public? Even the dress she wore was 
simple and unostentatious. 

“There is nothing humiliating to you,” he 
assured her as he took off his hat. “The fact 
is I am out of sorts and I should be out of 
place. You don’t want a skeleton at the 
feast.” 

“You don’t look much like a skeleton,” said 
the gay little body, laughing admiringly into 
his blue eyes. “ But I did not come to ask you 
to stay — only to tell you that I am sorry you 
are going away.” She drew from her corsage 
a tiny handkerchief of cambric and lace, per- 
fuming the air as she waved it to and fro. “See 
here,” she went on suddenly, “don’t you want 
to come to see me some time in my little dig- 
gings?” 


54 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“You are very good,” Langstreth replied 
uncompromisingly. 

“Well,” she said, “all right. I live in Fifty- 
fifth street, West, number — . But I am not 
— good.” A little nervous laugh parted her 
lips and she raised her eyebrows timidly. 

“You are certainly very kind,” answered 
Archie; “ and you look awfully good — good 
enough to eat.” 

“ No,” she declared, as she dabbed her small 
nose with her perfumed bit of lace, “ I am not 
good, but I have stopped all that with Clandon.” 

Langstreth said nothing. 

“ Perhaps it is silly of me,” she went on, 
almost shyly; “but when I heard that he was 
going to be married, I told him that everything 
between us must end. You see I am perfectly 
able to look after myself, and I won’t take his 
money or his — his love from another woman.” 

“Then you are good after all,” said Archie. 

She laughed again, but her eyes did not 
laugh. 

“I love him,” she said with an impressiveness 
which was enhanced by the frivolity of her 
tone and gesture. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 55 

What he would have said to her Langstreth 
never knew. A babel of voices rose, calling 
Pussy’s name, and with a little poiquee de main 
she left him. Then, just, as he opened the 
door to depart he heard her explaining to her 
companions that she had been detained in the 
ante-chamber searching for her handkerchief. 

Langstreth shut the door gently and went 
out without a sound. 

A sickening sense of loneliness came over 
him — the emptiness of his life. And this must 
go on forever. There could never be anything 
else now. 

He walked swiftly out into the night air. 
There was a tender touch of spring in the wind 
and a soft fragrance. He raised his hat and let 
the breeze meet his brow. It was like the 
caress of a friend’s hand. 

He thought of Viola Chesinde. He thought 
of her as he had known her in childhood, as she 
had first budded in womanhood, as he had 
watched and aided her successes; he remem- 
bered her as he had last seen her, and he 
pictured her radiant in her queenly beauty 
as she would one day be as the wife of another 


5 6 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

man; and in thinking of her thus it was as 
though she were dead and lost to him. 

For the first time in his life he felt like an 
insignificant creature. He had never felt the 
lack of wealth before. And yet, for that paltry 
thing, gold, the woman whom he had loved 
had betrayed her honor into another man’s 
hand. 

He thought of his manhood, his strength, his 
youth with a scornful smile of positive disdain. 

Pussy Le Clare seemed noble in his sight since 
she could say of a man who was a drunkard and 
a libertine, a man at whose hand she suf- 
fered indignity and shame, yet, “ I love him.” 

She at least was honest in her love, however 
base and incomprehensible that love might; be 
in her own fashion also she had proved herself 
honest to herself in the resignation of that 
love. 

With such thoughts as these the evening 
wore dinnerlessly away. But it was with 
stronger cravings of heart than of hunger that, 
when eleven o’clock struck, he turned aimlessly 
into the brilliant entrance of Delmonico’s. 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne, taking supper with 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


5 7 


two men young enough to be her sons and 
wicked enough to be Nero’s, caught sight of 
him as he entered and beckoned him to her. 
She looked even handsomer than usual, with a 
vague suspicion of her maid’s artisanship visible 
beneath the delicate tissue of her veil. 

“ Come and sit down,” she said as Lang- 
streth bowed over the hand she gave him. 
“ I think you know Mr. Eresby and Regy — yes, 
of course, all men know each other at their 
clubs. We have just been to a little French 
concert at the Casino — such naughty little Sun- 
day songs; and then Regy insisted that we 
should come here and have a nibble with him.” 

“Regy” was the son and heir of Orchiltree 
Dynevor, and Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne had 
long since discovered in him especial attri- 
butes of regard. Of course the Dynevor 
millions smelled unmistakably of tobacco, but 
Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne was above such trifles 
as the smell of tobacco. She lived in an 
aroma of palm trees and aloes. She perfumed 
her laces with Lubin’s latest extract and swung 
censers in her drawing-room with the regular- 
ity of an acolyte. 


58 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Regy welcomed Langstreth with the air of 
an epicure, and ordered another bottle of 
champagne. Archie felt as if champagne 
would choke him, but he sat down, neverthe- 
less, and thanked Dynevor for his hospitality. 

“I thought you were dining with Clandon,”- 
said Eresby, who always said the wrong thing 
at the wrong time. 

“No,” said Langstreth, briefly. 

“But Clandon told me you were,” he con- 
tinued. “He told me the whole party.” 

“He did not prove so confidential in my 
case,” Langstreth answered, giving a vague 
impression by his tone that the subject was 
exhausted. 

“Company too high,” said Eresby, with a 
wink in the direction of Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne. 

“Too low?” suggested Regy Dynevor. 

Langstreth made no reply, and turning to 
Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne, inquired after her 
daughter. 

“Poor Evelyn,” sighed the shorn lamb’s 
mamma, “poor child, she has gone to Tuxedo, 
a real duty visit. It was a fine piece of self- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 59 

denial, too, for Regy has made up such nice 
little parties for us which she must miss.” 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne had made up nice 
little parties, too — poker and supper parties; 
and she had craftily decided that her lamb was 
just as well off on the whole at Tuxedo, as she 
would be in Madison Avenue. 

“I suppose you have heard from Miss Ches- 
inde,” she asked, as some terrapin in small sil- 
ver sauce-pans made its appearance. 

“I hear of her,” corrected Langstreth, “that 
she is well.” 

“And happy.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not, indeed,” simpered Eresby with a 
significant grin. “Clandon seems to be able to 
enjoy himself, eh! Langstreth?” 

“I have never known anything about Clan- 
don’s amusements,” he replied, “and it is a 
matter of perfect indifference to me whether 
he enjoys himself or not.” 

For one moment Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne 
was seized with a fear that something unpleas- 
ant was going to happen. It flashed across her 
mind that she was in Delmonico’s on Sunday 


6o 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


night, a lone woman, with three of the best 
known men in New York. She felt quite un- 
equal to the emergency, and turned, as a last 
resource, to Dynevor. 

She was instantly relieved. A look of 
trouble and anxiety was upon Regy’s face, but 
it did not seem to have anything to do with 
the question of Guy Clandon’s sources of 
amusement. There was a general appearance 
of uneasiness among the waiters who were in 
attendance. Dynevor had discovered that 
something was wrong with the champagne. 

The head waiter was summoned and ad- 
vanced to the table with an air of quiet and 
unobtrusive rectitude; after a moment he pre- 
sented Dynevor with the cork and withdrew a 
few paces. Regy took it — looked at one end 
attentively, then turned it round and examined 
the other end. Then with a sigh and a gesture 
of superb resignation he said: 

“I blame no one. It is inexplicable, of 
course, but let it pass. Take this away and 
open another bottle at once.” 

The crisis had passed. Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne drew a long breath of relief, and noth- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


6 1 


ing more was said on the subject until an hour 
later when the party broke up. 

“What is this about Archie Langstreth and 
Clandon?” she asked, as she reclined luxuri- 
ously in Dynevor’s coupe en route for home. 

Then Regy explained about the dinner 
party. 

“Langstreth poses for Sir Galahad,” he de- 
clared; “and one doesn’t find the Holy Grail 
while eating canvas-back duck v/ith cocottes.” 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne laughed good- 
naturedly, and presently when they reached 
the house on Madison Avenue she asked Regy 
to come in. He had a brandy and soda in a 
tiny eighteenth century boudoir, and talked a 
little love in a nineteenth century undertone 
while his hostess smoked a cigarette on a divan. 

Before he went away he kissed her. 

“Oh! Regy,” she said, flutteringly. 

Then he kissed her again. 


CHAPTER VII. 


When Langstreth’s letter was brought to 
Miss Chesinde, she was alone in her charming 
little sitting-room at the hotel in Berkeley 
Square. 

She had increased the opulence of her sur- 
roundings. She looked essentially rich. She 
had lost something of her ineffable grace as she 
had gained her accession; and yet, in her contra- 
dictory method of reasoning, she decided that 
she was pleased that it should be so. She 
enjoyed the obsequiousness of servants. She 
gave gold in payment for trifles. She thought 
no more of asking the price of her purchases 
than she thought of inquiring the names of 
persons who served her. Once or twice she 
had taken pleasure in looking superior in the 
presence of poverty. 

She was selling herself and she knew it; and 
the thought gratified her that her purchaser 
should pay dearly for his bargain. 

“He shall allow me a hundred thousand a 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 63 

year,” she said to herself, “and I shall spend 
two hundred thousand.” 

But when Langstreth’s letter came to her, the 
elation of her mood fell away as mist, and she 
experienced a sensation as if everything were 
plated and the wash were wearing off. 

She read the short letter slowly; she read it 
again, smilelessly, and then she put it among 
her laces in the perfumed recesses of her 
drawer. 

She sat perfectly still for a long time with 
her face buried in her hands. She could not 
tell whether her head ached or her heart. It 
was late, but she hesitated to ring for her maid, 
enjoying the silence of her seclusion. 

Finally, however, her aunt sent to inquire if 
she were ready. 

“Tell Mrs. Clandon,” she said, “that I shall 
be ready in half an hour.” 

“But we shall be late,” cried Mrs. Clandon; 
coming to her niece’s door and knocking 
faintly. 

“Then they will have to wait for us,” Miss 
Chesinde called back. “Do not undervalue 
yourself, Aunt Edith. If we are worth asking 


64 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

at all, we are worth waiting for.” And with 
that Mrs. Clandon was fain to be satisfied. 

They were bidden to a great dinner. Miss 
Chesinde’s beauty had passed from lip to lip. 
Her recognition had been royal. The glamour 
of opulence surrounded her like a halo. 

She found servitors on every side, the non- 
chalance of her manner charming those who 
before had exacted obeisance. 

Soon after the hour appointed for dinner she 
was ready to leave the hotel. Mrs. Clandon, 
resplendent in velvet and diamonds, was fuss- 
ing over the delay. 

“What will they think of us?” she asked. 

“I don’t care in the least what they think,” 
said Miss Chesinde. “They can’t think less of 
us than I do of them.” She leaned back in the 
carriage and drew on her long gloves indolently. 

The evening added to Miss Chesinde’s tri- 
umphs. Lady Sacheverell took upon herself 
the honor of having discovered a new star in 
the season’s brilliant galaxy. Men clamored 
for introductions, and went away satisfied if 
she accorded them a smile. 

When they asked her to sing she replied: 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 65 


“You have Miss Eames; you have Melba 
and Jean de Reszke; go and hear them.” 

Later they came to her and said that the 
heir to a European crown desired her presen- 
tation. 

“I am just leaving,” she answered, raising her 
eyebrows questioningly. “His Highness must 
wait.” 

Nevertheless, although she knew she had 
scored a success where even recognition is a 
conquest, she felt no elation in her triumph. 
Her aunt, who reverenced the mighty and was 
prone to bend the knee to princes, ventured a 
remonstrance. 

“Their marquises and their viscounts bore 
me to death,” said Miss Chesinde slowly, 
“Did you notice the way they all genuflected 
before Tan-y-Bwllyh? They make anti-Christ 
of the heir to a Welsh dukedom.” 

“They are all most kind,” said Mrs. Clandon, 
purring comfortably. 

They were being driven home through the 
night-deserted streets. Miss Chesinde was 
leaning back among the cushions of the car- 
riage and had drawn off her gloves. In the 
5 


66 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


intermittent glare of the street lamps the dia- 
monds of the ring which Clandon had given 
her flashed. She looked at them with a smile 
of absolute scorn. For an instant the sense of 
the power of gold sickened her. What did it 
avail? The recognition of nobles, the pleas- 
ures and pursuits of an effete civilization, the 
paltry bedeckings of wealth. And she was 
bound to such an existence by a hoop of flam- 
ing stones; bound to it forever. She drew the 
ring from her finger. A sudden rock of the 
carriage, if she held it carelessly, might throw 
it from her, and she would be free. 

No! She was bound by chains stronger than 
a ring of brilliant jewels. The luxurious sen- 
suality of her nature held her in a vice. She 
slipped the hoop of diamonds over her finger 
again. 

“Do you remember those roses that were 
sent to me, Aunt Edith, the same day that — 
that Guy and I became engaged?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Clandon, sleepily. “Why?” 

“They were sent to me by Archie Lang- 
streth,” she explained, “and I have never 
thanked him for them.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 67 

“Dear me, Viola,” said her aunt, “any one 
would suppose roses were diamonds.” 

“Roses are — roses,” declared Miss Chesinde 
as the carriage drew up at the end of Berkeley 
Square, and the footman opened the door for 
them to alight. 

Before she shut her eyes that night Miss 
Chesinde opened her portfolio and determined 
to write to Langstreth; but on second thoughts 
she decided to write to Guy. She filled half a 
sheet with commonplaces, describing some of 
their occupations and amusements in London, 
before she made reference to the subject which 
was upon her mind. 

“I hope you have gone back to your gar- 
denias,” she wrote, “or even to orchids, at 
John’s suggestion. Please do not wear roses 
any more, at least not for my sake. Of all 
flowers they are the most detestable.” 

The uneasiness of her mood clung to her 
throughout the night. She fought fitfully with 
it during her sleep, and her dreams were dis- 
turbing and added to her fatigue. In the 
morning, however, her equanimity returned. 

She passed an hour at Redfern’s in the hands 


68 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


of the most distinguished cutters and fitters of 
the time; she criticised the work mercilessly 
and tore down conventional fashion for fancies 
of her own. 

Later she went with her aunt to choose a 
dressing-case for Clandon, whose birthday fol- 
lowed in June. 

“I wish the toilet set of gold,” she told the 
clerk; “solid gold throughout and enameled in 
white. The crest and coat-of-arms must be 
sunk in lapis-lazuli and the monogram of dia- 
monds and sapphires.” 

“It will cost — thousands,” said the salesman, 
as he summoned the head of the establish- 
ment. 

“Perhaps,” said Miss Chesinde, indifferently. 
“I know nothing of the expense of fine work- 
manship, and little of the value of precious 
stones.” 

“Guy never was one of those effeminate 
natures,” ventured Mrs. Clandon. 

“I don’t know what you mean by effeminate, 
Aunt Edith. You would hardly call Archie 
Langstreth effeminate, I think; yet he cares 
for beautiful things.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 69 

“You must get what you please, my dear,” 
said her aunt. “Guy will be sure to value what 
is your choice.” 

The question of the dressing-case being 
settled, they drove down New Bond street, 
and in turning into Piccadilly Miss Chesinde 
stopped the carriage. 

“There is Mr. Mortayne,” she exclaimed, as 
she motioned to a man who had just bowed. 
“How do you do?” she said to him, holding 
out her hand as he came up to them. “We are 
just going to the Row; will you get in? This 
is my aunt, Mrs. Clandon. Aunt Edith, Mr. 
Mortayne knows Guy at home.” 

Mrs. Clandon supplemented Miss Chesinde’s 
invitation by her own, and Mortayne took his 
seat opposite them as Viola gave the order to 
go to the Park. 

“And when did you reach London?” she 
asked. “You are the last person I expected to 
meet to-day.” 

“I am the last person you have met to-day,” 
said the newcomer, with an apologetic laugh. 

“See here,” said Miss Chesinde, “if you are 
going to make bad jokes I shall be sorry I 


70 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


stopped the carriage for you, although I will 
confess to you that I did not know how glad I 
should be to see you.” 

“You are very kind,” Mortayne answered. “I 
have only been here four days — or five. I am 
old-fashioned enough still to like Paris better 
than London, although the English country is 
the most charming in the world. I have been 
traveling in Cornwall and Wales — making my 
luxurious body-servant quite unhappy by sleep- 
ing in desolate inns.” 

“What a delightful life,” murmured Mrs. 
Clandon, who could not sleep a wink without 
chloral and a night /taper. 

“And now tell me all the news,” said Mor- 
tayne, “All about yourself and everybody at 
home. How is your beau cavalier?” 

Miss Chesinde hesitated an instant. “Oh! 
Archie, you mean,” she said, as they traced 
their way slowly before Apsley House and 
turned to the right into the Park gates. He is 
well, he is always that. He is always every- 
thing that a man should be I think.” 

The Row was crowded. “Come,” said Miss 
Chesinde again. “We must get out. It is 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


7 * 


much nicer to walk. Aunt Edith will go back 
in the carriage and I will show you all the 
celebrities and all the great personages I 
know.” 

They descended from the landau and Mrs. 
Clandon instructed her niece to bring Mr. 
Mortayne back to luncheon and then dismissed 
them with a wave of her lace parasol. 

“I am glad to see you,” exclaimed Miss Ches- 
inde when they were alone. “I want to sit 
down and talk to you. I have something to 
tell you.” 

They found chairs in a secluded by-path, 
where it was shady and the air full of perfumes. 

“Have you heard what is going to happen to 
me? I am going to be married,” she said. 

“I never imagined you remaining single.” 

“Don’t joke about it. It is serious.” 

“Marriage taken seriously is a joke,” said 
Mortayne. “To whom?” 

“Well — to Guy Clandon.” 

“Ah!” said Mortayne, “am I to congratulate 
you?” 

“You know Clandon,” replied Miss Chesinde, 
“therefore you know whether there is cause for 


72 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


congratulation. I have been congratulating 
myself, however.” 

“I think,” he said, catching her glance, “that 
if you will permit me I will wait and congratu- 
late Clandon. There can be no mistake about 
his good fortune.” 

“That is very pretty, Mr. Mortayne. But 
you must not think I am not happy in my — 
choice.” 

“You look perfectly happy,” he said as he 
studied her beautiful smileless face. 

Some men passed to whom she bowed indif- 
ferently. “ Marquises and earls,” she ex- 
plained with a shrug of her shoulders. “Their 
titles weary me. We go to Paris to-morrow or 
the day following. ‘ What ! in the middle of 
the season?’ Lady Sacheverell asked me. ‘Of 
course,’ I said, ‘ that is the reason I am going.’ 
They talk of their seasons as if they were 
bulbs.” 

Mortayne laughed. “By the way, you know 
I am going to Paris, too,” he said. 

“ I was contemplating asking you to come,” 
replied Miss Chesinde. “I want you to take me 
about. I want to see — things.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


73 


“What things?” 

“Oh! — well; things,” she answered with an 
enigma in her smile. “You know Paris?” 

“ It was my home for years,” said Mortayne. 
“But you know it, too.” 

“A passing acquaintance,” she told him, with 
a nod of the head. “I know M. Worth. I 
always shake hands with him in public. He is 
a great man. If he liked he could invent 
a fashion of a hump on the back.” 

“Very well,” said Mortayne; “we will go to — 
to — the Louvre together.” 

“Oh! — the Louvre!” her lips parted in a smile 
of irony. “There are other things I want to 
see — other places to which I want to go.” 

“Ah! as a married woman Guy Clandon 
must take you to those.” 

“It is necessary to be married then; perhaps 
I shall marry you, Mr. Mortayne.” 

He bowed in mock deference, murmuring: 

“At your service.” Then looking at her face 
he saw a rapid change that had overspread it. 

“Tell me; why are you going to marry 
Clandon?” he asked. 


74 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“So that I may see Paris,” she declared with 
a swift challenge in her eyes. 

Thus talking, they discovered that it was 
time for luncheon, and started by Stanhope 
Gate in the direction of Berkeley Square. 

“Sometimes I think,” said Miss Chesinde as 
they turned off Park Lane and passed through 
Deanery street with its quaint windings and 
miniature dwellings, “sometimes I believe I 
could be happier here in one of these little 
houses than in one of those palace, in Carlton 
Terrace or Grosvenor Place.” 

“Now you are pitting the heart against 
wealth. That is not like you, Miss Chesinde.” 

“Do you not think me capable of champion- 
ing love in a cottage to the routing of the 
British peerage?” 

Mortayne was studying her varying moods. 
“You were not born for economies,” he told 
her. 

She laughed lightly, remembering her lavish 
expenditures. “You may be right,” she said. 
“I dare say I should suffocate in one of these 
little cages. But it will be an experience I shall 
never enjoy — because I am going to marry 



THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH 


75 


Guy Clandon and have houses with forty rooms 
and a hundred servants.” She drew a long 
breath as she spoke, as if she had escaped 
something that was disagreeable. 

They had now entered the pretty, stately 
square with its sombre mansions and great 
trees, and presently found themselves in front 
of the hotel. 

Luncheon was waiting for them, and Mrs. 
Clandon was in her most affable frame of mind. 
“I knew your mother,” she told Mortayne, and 
thereupon expounded the past as if it were an 
epic. 

“Mr. Mortayne is coming to Paris,” an- 
nounced Miss Chesinde, as the ices were 
brought on. 

“That will be delightful,” acquiesced heraunt, 
who appreciated the acquaintance of a man 
like Mortayne, who knew every chef in Paris 
and the peculiar delicacy of each cuisine. “De- 
lightful, charming,” she reiterated, and began 
to indulge in gastronomic visions of Biqnon 
and Voisin and the Lion d’Or. 

Throughout luncheon Miss Chesinde was very 
gay, and Mortayne found the frequency of her 






76 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

smile very captivating. She seemed to encom- 
pass him with her inexplicable charm. By the 
time that coffee was served in the drawing- 
room he began to envy Clandon his good luck 
and to wonder vaguely why he had never dis- 
covered so much that was fascinating in Miss 
Chesinde before. » 

Not long afterward Mrs. Clandon retired, 
pleading fatigue, and they were left alone. 

“You may smoke,” said Viola, as she led the 
way out upon a small balcony that overlooked 
the square. “Men are more at home when they 
smoke. I have known you a long time, Mr. 
Mortayne, but I have not known you very well, 
and I want to know you well.” 

The afternoon was delightful. The great 
trees with their fresh spring foliage were whis- 
pering in the breeze. “Is not this a convinc- 
ing proof of the pre-eminence of British con- 
servatism?” asked Miss Chesinde, as she 
watched the blue swirls of smoke from Mor- 
tayne’s cigarette ebb and flow on the warm, 
perfumed air; “these sombre rows of houses, 
with their dark colored doors, are they not 
pictures of respectability which ought to make 


\ 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 77 

us, as republicans, blush? Aunt Edith wanted 
to go to the Victoria or the Savoy. She is not 
conservative at heart.” 

“You were right to come here,” replied Mor- 
tayne. “Those hotels are huge caravansaries. 
One is numbered, not named. You become a 
unit, not a personage.” 

Miss Chesinde laughed. “ How well you un- 
derstand me. We should agree admirably, you 
and I,” she said. “I could not endure being a 
unit. ‘Miss Chesinde rings,’ they say when I 
touch my bell, and at once there is a rush.” 
She laughed again, lowly, conscious that she 
had constructed this order of things by her 
lavish method of tipping. A long vista of liv- 
eried lackeys bowing before her gratified and 
appealed to her senses. 

“ I hope we shall always agree,” said Mor- 
tayne, discarding his half-smoked cigarette for 
no reason at all, and reinstating another. He 
began to admire Miss Chesinde in a new light 
from the standpoint of her opulence. 

“Yes,” she said a little absently, “yes, of 
course, I hope so.” Then she paused. “ See 
here, Mr. Mortayne — ” 


78 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“ I am seeing,” he said. 

“Be serious; I am serious.” 

“Well?” - 

She leveled the keen glance of her cool eyes 
upon his face in a silent gaze. “ Why don’t you 
do something for Archie Langstreth? He is 
your — your friend.” 

“ The dearest friend I have in the world, Miss 
Chesinde. My affection for him is the one 
unselfish sentiment in my nature. I sometimes 
hate my riches because I can not share them 
with him.” 

“But why not?” 

Mortayne raised his brows. “ Because Lang- 
streth is — Langstreth. That is answer enough 
for us who know him. I gave him handsome 
presents once — a ring that cost thousands, his 
library furniture, a hunter with a pedigree. He 
took them with his open, honest smile which 
is more thanks than any words could be; he 
took those things, but when I offered him 
money — he refused it. That is prejudice, not 
principle.” 

“Of course,” said Miss Chesinde, “it is pride, 
and it is nonsense. Archie is cinque-cento. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


79 


He tries to play Parsifal in opera bouffe 
time. 

“I begged him to come abroad with me,” 
continued Mortayne. “I wanted to go all over 
the world — to Japan, to Thibet. ‘I can not 
afford it,’ he said, and that was the end of it.” 

“Well, I shall do something for him,” 
asserted Miss Chesinde with determination. 
“I must wait until I am married, of course; but 
I shall do something.” 

“What — take him to Japan?” 

She looked up quickly into his face. “Per- 
haps, even that,” she said insolently, with a 
shrug. “Oh! you understand.” 

“Miss Chesinde, I am very fond of Lang- 
streth; perhaps you do not know how fond. 
I have known him a long time, and I think I 
know what is the dearest wish of his heart. 
Do you not love him enough to — marry him?” 

A faint wave of color flooded her face, mak- 
ing it surpassingly fair. “When a woman loves 
a man very much,” she said slowly, “the kind- 
est thing she can do for him is to marry — his 
best friend. Oh! are you going, Mr. Mor- 
tayne?” 


80 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

He had made a slight gesture of deprecation, 
but he had not thought of going away. 

“You have so much to do,” he said in a tone 
of apology. “I must have detained you.” 

“I never have anything to do except what I 
please.” 

They left the balcony with its variegated 
awnings, and re-entered the cool room. Miss 
Chesinde made no attempt to detain her visitor 
nor did she essay to sit down. 

“Thank you so much for a pleasant morn- 
ing,” said Mortayne, as he held out his hand. 
“I shall see you in Paris.” 

“We stop at the Bristol,” said Miss Chesinde 
coldly. 


CHAPTER VII. . 


Valentine Mortayne was the richest man in 
New York. He had inherited four fortunes 
during his minority, so that when he came 
of age he found himself possessed of an 
annual income amounting to several millions 
of dollars. 

He had a house in Washington Square, a 
cottage at Newport, an hotel on the Avenue 
Kleber, a villa at Cannes, and a shooting-box* 
in Scotland — and he did not live in any of 
them. He said he believed in having a pied a 
terre. But he shut up his houses and went to 
hotels. 

He was known in every city in Europe and 
in every club. He had traveled in every part 
of the civilized world, and managed to spend a 
million a year unostentatiously. 

He was not five and thirty years of age, but 
he stooped slightly, and his dark hair was 
frosted at the temples, notwithstanding the lux- 
uriance of its growth. 

6 


* 


81 


82 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Women, when they were marriageable, 
thought him handsome. All men liked him. 

There was a potent charm in his manner 
which over-rode a certain effeminacy of bearing. 
At the same time there was something distinctly 
manly in his fearless eyes and the complete 
repose of his nature. 

His whole life had been characterized by 
success. His investments were secure, his 
property was productive, his name was a syno- 
nym for luck. Yet, possessed of everything to 
make life desirable, he was not content. 

In his sitting-room at Claridge’s, with the 
rumble of carriages passing below him on their 
way to the most fashionable mile in the world, 
he was contemplating his position. He, 
Valentine Mortayne, had been snubbed by a 
woman. 

Miss Chesinde’s sudden change of manner 
had affected him strangely. It was as incom- 
prehensible as it had been unexpected. He 
felt that she had dismissed him from her pres- 
ence with perfect courtesy, but with undoubted 
disregard for convention. And he had been 
obliged to leave her with no further satisfac- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


83 


tion than the information that when she was 
in Paris she stopped, customarily, at the Hotel 
Bristol; so, also, did a hundred people he 
knew, the Prince of Wales among them. 

He felt less irritated than preplexed although 
it displeased him that he should not be in- 
different both to irritation and perplexity. 

In curious sequence of thought Archie Lang- 
streth rose to his mind and he made a sudden 
resolve to start for America at once. A score 
of plans presented themselves vividly to his 
view, a trip to Alaska in his yacht, a tour of the 
Rockies, a journey to the North Pole. 

Having determined on departure he be- 
thought himself a little ruefully of his dignity, 
which he decided might suffer were he to allow 
any change of plan to arise out of Miss 
Chesinde’s nonchalance; and he reverted once 
more to his original idea of spending a fort- 
night in Paris. The Grand Prix was excuse 
enough; and he mentally declared that Miss 
Chesinde might put up at the Bristol or at any 
other hotel she chose. 

In this frame of mind a letter was brought to 
him. It was from Miss Chesinde and contained 


84 THE loyalty of langstreth. 

an enclosed card from Lady Vane-of-Vanstone, 
requesting his presence that evening in Bel- 
grave Square. 

“ I got you this invitation,” wrote Viola, 
“ hoping that you might have nothing better to 
do to-night; besides, I thought it would be a 
good opportunity to tell you where we are to 
stay in Paris. We are dining at the Bachelors 
with “my marquis,” and shall go on to Lady 
Vane’s soon after eleven. Do come. V. C.” 

Mortayne rang for his servant and dispatched 
him with the commands to send a great box of 
roses to Miss Chesinde. He smiled grimly as 
he thought of his decision regarding Paris. 
Could she have forgotten already that she had 
told him she would be at the Hotel Bristol? 
He could not determine which disturbed him 
the more — the insolence of her former behavior 
or the kindness of her note; but he became 
aware that he was pleased at the prospect of 
seeing her again. 

Just before midnight he went to Belgrave 
Square. He wore a white orchid in his button- 
hole; it was one of the times he looked hand- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 85 

some. He was well enough known to be rec- 
ognized at once. 

“They say he owns whole gold mines — miners 
and all,” he heard a celebrated beauty say as 
he passed her on the stairs. 

Lady Vane received him with effusion born 
of the fact that her daughters were marriage- 
able and the family exchequer low. 

“You must let me introduce you to Miss 
Hamilton Haye,” she said, and rushed him off 
to the beauty on the stairs. 

She was very handsome, with a kind of 
statuesque impassiveness that made him feel 
as if he had touched something cold. She 
believed in the popular fallacy that she resem- 
bled Madame Recamier, and Mortayne be- 
came eminent in her estimation by telling her 
that it was so. 

Thus it was very late before he was able to 
approach Miss Chesinde. 

She was in conversation with Lord Mount- 
carron. “Here comes a man,” she said to him, 
“who could buy your estates with his income.” 

“By Jove!” ejaculated his lordship, adjusting 
his eyeglass. 


86 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


Mortayne drew nearer. “How do you do, 
Mounty, old fellow — ” 

“Hello! Morty, dear boy!” And the two 
men shook hands enthusiastically. 

“You know each other?” asked Miss Ches- 
inde, and discovered that they had been wet- 
bobs together at Eton, and within a year of 
each other at King’s. “This is my marquis,” 
she said to Mortayne, with a little laugh. 

“Oh, no! He is mine;” and at once the two 
men fell into the easy conversation of remi- 
niscence, which comes to friends at meeting 
after long separation. 

When at last, however, Mortayne found 
himself alone with Miss Chesinde, Mrs. Clan- 
don had already signified her desire to depart. 
Side by side they pushed their way down the 
crowded staircase. 

“Did you get my flowers?” asked Mortayne 
as they came to a momentary halt on the 
landing. “They were but a poor return for 
your kindness in sending me your note. Oh! 
I am afraid you are tired.” 

She had grown pale suddenly at his words. 

The vague sweet, stifling scent of roses 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


87 


seemed to rise up about her. “It is nothing. 
It is the white glare of the electric lights,” she 
declared, with an effort at gaiety. “Science 
destroys nature without a scruple. But — Mr. 
Mortayne — ” 

The crowd separated them for a moment and 
her voice reached him faintly. 

“Mr. Mortayne,” she said again as they were 
swayed together, “please do not send me roses 
any more.” 

“What, then, shall I send?” 

A little flush flitted wantonly over her beauti- 
ful brow and cheek. “Oh!” she replied with 
insouciance, “a rope of pearls, perhaps; a 
house in Belgravia; anything, even bank notes, 
only not roses. They stifle me. I cannot 
breathe.” 

They had reached the door into the street, 
and there the rush for carriages, the calling of 
footmen, was amounting almost to tumult. 

“Our carriage is stopping the way,” whis- 
pered Mrs. Clandon, as her footman took her 
resplendent personage within his liveried 
charge. 

But Miss Chesinde made no haste. She 


88 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


knew that there was a duchess behind her 
whose carriage was delayed by her own. “I 
cannot help it,” she said to Mortayne. “I have 
not that insular prejudice which bows down to 
strawberry-leaves. I have never hurried in 
my life — but once, when I tried to read 
Howells — and I do not think I shall begin 
now. Her Grace must wait.” 

She chatted on indolently fora few moments 
standing beneath the striped awning which was 
stretched across the pavement, and then she 
gave her hand to Mortayne, letting her gloved 
fingers remain for an instant in his palm. 

“Good-bye,” she said, slowly, with a smile 
in the depths of her eyes, “or rather au revoir 
and a bientot; for I shall see you in Paris.” 

In another moment, like a flash of light she 
was gone, and the duchess in her place stood 
at his side. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Early the following morning Mortayne sent 
his servant to the hotel in Berkeley Square and 
learned that Mrs. Clandon and Miss Chesinde 
would leave for Paris at eleven o’clock. He 
himself went to Charing Cross and presented 
himself a few minutes before the time of 
train-leaving. He found them occupying a 
saloon-carriage with every accessory to com- 
fort and luxury, and he felt that his contribu- 
tion of white violets was small. 

Miss Chesinde received him with cordiality 
and went so far as to say that the violets were 
something of a consolation for the disagree- 
ables attendant on the journey. 

Their moments were few, however, and there 
was scarcely more than a hurried farewell be- 
fore the train moved slowly out in the direc- 
tion of Cannon street. 

“Mr. Mortayne seems quite devoted,” re- 
marked Mrs. Clandon, as they were running 

89 


90 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

through New Cross, St. John’s. “I did not 
realize that you knew him so well.” 

To which Miss Chesinde replied that one 
could make discoveries even in Piccadilly. “I 
have known him,” she added explanatorily, “for 
years — not very well, I admit, because he is a 
sort of amateur Stanley. But he is a pal of 
Archie Langstreth.” 

“ Pal! My dear Viola,” condemned Mrs. 
Clandon, “ how do you pick up such expres- 
sions?” 

“ By associating with peers,” she replied, as 
she buried her nose among Mortayne’s violets. 

“And when is Mr. Langstreth’s pal coming 
to Paris, may I ask?” 

“ Oh! I am sure I don’t know. He will prob- 
ably take it in en route to Victoria Nyanza.” 

“ Victoria Nyanza! my dear? And who may 
she be; another of Archie Langstreth’s pals? 
I think it would look well for you to institute 
a friendship with some of Guy’s companions,” 
suggested Guy’s mamma with a wave of gloved 
hands in the direction of Guy’s fiancee. 

“ I think not, Aunt Edith,” said Miss Ches- 
inde suavely “ At all events I shall not dis- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 9 1 

cover Guy’s friends either in Piccadilly or at the 
sources of the Nile. They have too much to 
do at home. They have to mix drinks, or 
superintend faro banks or — dance ballets.” 

“ Viola!” And as the tidal train was rushing 
along through the picturesque pastures of 
Chiselhurst and Sevenoaks, Mrs. Clandon 
suddenly discovered that already she was 
beginning “ to feel the motion of that horrid 
channel,” and had recourse at once to her lav- 
ender salts, her diluted brandy and the undi- 
vided attention of footman and maid. 

There was very little further conversation 
throughout the journey. Miss Chesinde par- 
took of a light luncheon in which cold game, a 
salad of chicory, and some dry champagne fig- 
ured conspicuously. La Manchewas perfectly 
calm, but Mrs. Clandon lay in her cabin and 
declared that she suffered tortures. Early in 
the afternoon the shores of France smiled upon 
them, as did also the railway officials when 
they discovered that they were the “ persona- 
ges who had commanded” a saloon-carriage 
and a coupe lit. 

“You are disgustingly well,” snapped poor 


92 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

Mrs. Clandon as Viola bethought herself once 
more of the delicacies of the lunch basket. 

On their arrival in Paris they went directly 
to the hotel, leaving their luggage under the 
skillful manipulation of Vernon and one of the 
maids. 

“Your own rooms,” said the manager with 
suave obsequiousness as they rattled up to the 
Bristol. They were conducted at once to a 
luxurious suite overlooking the Place Vendome 
and the -rue Castiglione, and upholstered in 
yellow damask. Miss Chesinde remembered 
that damask on every consecutive visit to 
Paris, since the early days of her orphanhood 
when Mrs. Clandon had first taken her under 
her luxurious charge. 

With dinner Mrs. Clandon revived and man- 
aged to do justice to a cuisine rightfully cele- 
brated. Nevertheless, it was early when she 
instituted preparations for retiring, remarking 
to Viola as she went that for once she should 
have to break her resolution concerning ano- 
dynes as her nerves were “ all over the place.” 

When Miss Chesinde went to her bedroom 
she found Lucie in attendance and everything 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


93 


arranged as if the hotel had been their perma- 
nent abode for years. Upon the dressing-table, 
which was elaborate with silver and cut glass, 
lay a little pile of letters and visiting cards. 

“Worth has requested your presence to-mor- 
row/’ said Lucie in reference to one of these 
missives. “ You will have to decide upon the 
lace for your wedding dress.” 

“ Heavens ! ” ejaculated Miss Chesinde. 
“What a hurry they all are in. Any one 
would suppose I was going to be married in a 
week. If they do not take care I shall not be 
married at all.” 

Lucie forebore a rejoinder. She knew her 
mistress well enough to understand perfectly 
well that her heart was not goingto the man to 
whom she had promised her hand. Neverthe- 
less, Lucie appreciated the good things of this 
world, and she could not deny that the prospect 
of the Clandon millions was alluring. 

While her maid was brushing and braiding 
her hair, Miss Chesinde, herself, was reading 
letters. There was one from her friend, the 
Duchesse de Vent-Fort, and one post-marked 
New York, which she opened expectantly. 


94 THE loyalty of langstreth. 

“Now what,” she soliloquized, “can Mrs. 
Thorncroft Thorne have to say to me?” as she 
discovered that lady’s signature at the foot of 
the delicately perfumed sheet. 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne wrote an exceed- 
ingly amusing letter. She discussed all the 
current topics and told trifling anecdotes of 
some of their mutual friends, and finally con- 
gratulated MissChesinde in words which itwas 
hard to believe were studied. 

“You flew away so suddenly,” she wrote, 
“that I did not have a chance to tell you how 
glad I am that you have found your heart’s 
happiness. I can well imagine that Guy Clan- 
don is the most envied man in New York. I 
have only seen him rarely of late — once or 
twice, I believe, but I hear of him constantly. 
I hear, too, that there are jewels worth half a 
million waiting for you. Archie Langstreth I 
do see often; and when I tell you that he looks 
pale and careworn, I do not mean that he is 
less handsome. Evelyn says he is the most 
beautiful thing in the world; but, then, Evelyn 
is mediaeval in her enthusiasms. Langstreth 
strolled in to Del’s last Sunday night looking 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 95 

positively like a ghost; he had had nothing to 
eat, and so I made him sit down and take sup- 
per with us. He was to have dined with some 
of his club ‘Johnnies,’ I' hear, but found the 
company too mixed. The conversation was 
as decollete as the ‘ladies’,’ which is saying a 
good deal.” 

Then followed a little further news of a 
worldly nature and the letter ended. 

Miss Chesinde could not sleep. She even 
bethought herself of her aunt’s flagon of chloral, 
but dismissed the idea. She gave herself up 
at length as a prey to insomnia and found that 
having determined upon wakefulness her mind 
became quiet. 

She understood Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s 
letter from beginning to end. The motives 
which had prompted it were clear enough. She 
had already compared the date mentioned in 
Longstreth’s letter, on which he purposed to 
dine with Clandon, and she had discovered that 
it corresponded with that Sunday night when 
he had turned up dinnerless into Mrs. Thorn- 
croft Thorne’s champagned and tender mercies; 


96 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

and Miss Chesinde begrudged Archie neither 
the champagne nor the tenderness. 

“So Guy Clandon ” But she dismissed 

all thought of him. See did not care in the 
least with whom he dined. He might have an 
opera-bouffe as an epergne if he 'liked. She 
knew that at that moment she hated Clandon, 
but her heart told her that her feeling had in 
nowise changed since the moment when she 
had promised to be his wife. 

His wife! After all, was it worth the sacri- 
fice? 

She began to think of Langstreth, and her 
heart beat loud in her bosom, beneath its 
shrouding of perfumed lace. A delicious sen- 
sation of repose came upon her at the thought 
of him — his strength, his beauty and his love. 
What were all the riches in the world com- 
pared to the wealth of his devotion? They 
might live in Harlem — or in Hoboken. Those 
names did not fill her with horror now; and the 
picture of a life such as that with him soothed 
her to sleep as the contemplation of all her 
wealth and the luxuries of her existence were 
unable to do. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 9 7 

But before noon on the following day her 
mood veered. M. Worth claimed her atten- 
tion. She chose the point for her wedding 
dress, and flitted from Felix to Doucet, from 
Virol to Pingot, and gave no more thought to 
Harlem or Hoboken than she did to the 
mountains of the moon. 

The fashionable, frivolous little Duchesse de 
Vent-Fort took her to the Bois just before sun- 
set and congratulated her enthusiastically upon 
her engagement. 

“He has millions,” she declared in soft, purr- 
ing French, “millions and millions. You ought 
to be perfectly happy.” 

It was a radiant day, as only days are radi- 
ant in Paris in the spring. Miss Chesinde 
looked superb in a costume of mauve and sea- 
green, which the duchess pronounced ravissante 
A parasol made of lilacs imprisoned in clouds 
of white lace shaded without shadowing her 
face. 

“I ought to be perfectly happy,” she said, 
slowly, repeating Madame de Vent-Fort’s 
words, “if money can make happiness.” 

The carriage wheeled to the left from the 
7 


98 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

Champs-Elysees, skirting the Arc and down 
the wide Avenue de Bois. The liveries of 
the de Vent-Fort were ultra-marine, and people 
looked and wondered as they passed. The 
gay little duchesse plumed herself like a bird 
in the sun, and imagined how that last lovely 
empress had felt, as she rolled down the same 
avenue years ago, with the fickle crowd cheer- 
ing in her name. 

“Ma chere,” she whispered, as she leaned 
over and touched Miss Chesinde’s hand, “chere, 
there is nothing but money in the whole world; 
nothing that counts, I mean. Happiness, my 
dear? It is as easily bought as jewels in the 
rue de la Paix.” 

“The happiness that one can buy with gold,” 
said Miss Chesinde, “is like the jewels in the 
Palais Royal.” 

“Ciel!” cried the duchesse, with a little 
amused laugh. “You are very clever indeed, 
and you should be clever enough to know that 
money can buy anything.” 

“It cannot buy love.” 

“ Love! ” she echoed.” Why, my dear, it is a 
drug on the market. Oh! you delicious inno- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


99 


cent, listen. But no matter,” she broke off sud- 
denly and leaned back among her cushions, 
smiling with enigmatic insouciance. 

Miss Chesinde looked half-pityingly at the 
little gorgeous figure of her friend. She knew 
that Ottilie Branka had sold herself to the old 
Due de Vent-Fort as entirely as if she had been 
a bundle of merchandise. 

“ Did you ever love?” she asked with a 
question in eyes and tone alike. 

The duchesse laughed gaily as her black 
stallions rounded the curve to the right of the 
Cafe Chinois. “ Love!” she exclaimed in her 
pretty affected English. “ Moi ? such a 
question to demand of one who is married.” 

“ My dear Ottilie,” said Miss Chesinde, “you 
need no heroics with me. Monsieur le due is 
a good man — but — ” 

“ Mais /” Then Madame la duchesse laughed 
again. “ Cest trop engageant, ca!" she ex- 
claimed, touching Viola’s hand. “You are 
right; he is a good man. But women do not 
love good men — I mean for that. I liked the 
de Vent-Fort. It is a great name. They are 
hommes de race .” 


100 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH* 


“ Then you have never loved?” asked Miss 
Chesinde. She believed in Madame de Vent- 
Fort’s happiness and she was probing to dis- 
cover her own. 

“A hundred times,” said Ottilie. “ I love 
you ! ” She paused an instant with fluttering 
eyelids and then went on rapidly: “ Listen, I 
will tell you. I was the daughter of a Russian 
noble. I was poor and I loved a poor man. He 
was an artist but nobody would buy his pictures. 
If we had married our lives would have been 
biffe. I was not such an idiot as that. For a 
poor girl to marry a poor man is simply social 
suicide. So I married the Due de Vent-Fort, 
And now Gouache — there you have his name — 
now he paints his pictures and I buy them.” 

The glow of the sinking sun seemed to fade 
from Miss Chesinde’s face; she drew a quick 
breath as if the careless words of her friend 
had found their sheath in her breast, and she 
made no reply. 

The Allee de Longchamps was crowded. 
The duchesse bowed gaily on all sides. The 
carriages moved slowly in double lines, often 
being forced to come to a complete stop. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


IOI 


At one of these enforced pauses the azure 
liveries of the de Vent-Fort came in close con- 
tact with the violet and silver ones of a woman 
who looked like the princess of an oriental 
island. 

The duchesse leveled her lorgnette upon 
her with the merciless criticism of her order, 
and then with a look of cold disdain she gave 
the command to her servants to leave the 
crowded avenue, choosing one of the secluded 
roads which led indirectly to the tours des lacs. 

“What a beautiful creature,” declared Miss 
Chesinde, following the violet and silver liver- 
ies with her gaze. “She has a face like the 
Blessed Virgin.” 

“Oh! it is Madame de Barras,” replied her 
hostess, smiling indulgently. “She is supposed 
to be the most dangerous woman in Europe. 
Men have died for her. Her hotel is a palace, 
they say.” 

“Who says?” 

“Oh! every man. Her suppers have robbed 
the Jockey Club of some of its devotes. Just 
at present it is Prince Vasahely, the Rouma- 
nian ambassador.” 


102 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Does one know her?” 

Ottilie de Vent-Fort shrugged her dainty, 
chiffoned shoulders, withasmile of indolentsug- 
gestiveness. “We do not, my dear,” she whis- 
pered significantly. “She is not of our monde . 
But our husbands know her, and our sons.” 

Once again in the broad avenue as it sweeps 
into the Place de la Concorde they passed the 
gleaming vision of Madame de Barras, and 
Miss Chesinde experienced a strange sensa- 
tion of prescience as the dusky, oriental eyes 
rested for a moment on her own. But the 
duchesse raised her brows with vague disdain; 
she knew perfectly well that men said of her 
that she was as fascinating and as dangerous 
as Madame de Barras; she knew that her own 
ultra-marine liveries and the housing of gold 
of her Russian stallions were not a shade less 
conspicuous than those of the other woman; 
she knew that her own life was as full of diver- 
sions and amusements allowed by the code of 
her grand monde as was that led by the other 
in her smaller world, and she smiled insouci- 
antly with conscious superiority and calm self- 
complaisance. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 103 

Miss Chesinde’s mind was not analytical, 
although it was encompassing. She had not 
been accustomed to explain riddles, or demon- 
strate problems, even though she should guess 
and solve them; nevertheless, for one instant, 
she classed the two women together as com- 
pletely as if Ottilies de Vent-Fort were not the 
wife of a great noble, the daughter of a semi- 
royal house, and one of the most fashionable 
women of her time. 

They bade each other farewell, and Miss 
Chesinde stood in the doorway of the hotel 
and watched the black horses rush across the 
wooden pavement of the Place Vendome, 
with the brilliant trappings of the de Vent-Fort 
changing from silver in the dying twilight into 
gold in the feverish glare of the newly-lighted 
street lamps. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Mrs. Clandon always declared that she was 
at home in Paris; and, in truth, she gathered 
about her a charming circle of friends and 
enjoyed herself immeasurably. She was 
esprit de corps with the Faubourg, and called 
herself enbrique with the ancienne regime. 

Miss Chesinde, on the contrary was bored 
to death with the Faubourg. “I do not know 
the dates of their titles,” she said wearily, 
“nor their order of precedence, and they know 
nothing else. They live a perpetual minuet. 
I am sorry for them, and I regret that they 
have seen the old names of their streets torn 
down and new ones instituted, but I cannot 
discuss the diathesis of a society which existed 
before I was born.” 

Mrs. Clandon listened with elevated eye- 
brows and wondered where her niece could 
have contracted her plebeian taint. So she per- 
formed her stateLy pleasures alone and excused 
Viola on any plea that came foremost. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. IO5 

When Valentine Mortayne arrived in Paris, 
he gave as his reason that he wished to witness 
the Grande Prix, notwithstanding the fact that 
he had scarcely eaten his dinner when he 
started in the direction of the Hotel Bristol. 

Miss Chesinde was alone when his card was 
brought to her, but she made no hesitation to 
receive him. 

“My aunt is out,” she said as he entered the 
yellow damask salon, and she gave him her 
hand in welcome. “She is putting her trust in 
princes and dining a V ancienne regime in the 
Faubourg. You have come just in time to 
save me from a hideous doom. I was going to 
bed.” 

They sat down near an open window where 
the cool night air blew in, and as the light from 
a shaded lamp fell upon Miss Chesinde’s face, 
Mortayne was struck by an inexplicable change 
which had come over it since their parting the 
week before. 

An open book lay upon the table and he took 
it up. “This?” he said in a tone of surprise. 
“Does Mrs. Clandon leave her poisons un- 
corked?” 








10 6 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“Oh! it is mine,” she said. “Monsieur de’ 
Ame sent it to me. Its stupidity is only re- 
lieved by its nastiness.” 

This, then, was part of the change which had 
transpired, thought Mortayne. “I wish you 
would not read such things,” he said to her. 
“The Jesuits of Bavaria have destroyed their 
Royal House by these methods. They are like 
the seefds which the Dervishes eat, producing 
madness and uncontrol.” 

“I shall not go mad,” Miss Chesinde 
answered with solemn gaiety. “But the books 
neither interest nor amuse me. Now that you 
have come you shall be my mentor.” 

“Guy Clandon must be that.” 

Miss Chesinde laughed. “Guy,” she said, 
“sends me books compared to which this is 
pure. He sends them dog-eared with much 
reading and annotated, and my name in full on 
the cover.” 

“Clandon will be here soon; until then, 
however, I hope you will not read these things. 
And by that time I shall be gone away.” 

“Oh! Where are you going?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. IO7 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I am weary of 
Piccadilly and the boulevards.” 

She looked at him narrowly. “You have 
moral dyspepsia,” she said. “You need the 
tonic of unselfishness. The pate de foie gras of 
an effeminate civilization has undermined your 
mental health. Go home to America and buy 
a stock farm.” 

The slow indolence of her criticism annoyed 
him. “Why should one breed pigs when one 
has a rose garden to tend?” he asked. “I once 
saw a violet growing upon the verge of a 
sewer — but I saw only the violet.” 

Soon afterward he arose. “I shall see you 
often, of course, Miss Chesinde,” he said, 
“since I came in order to see you.” 

“To see me, Mr. Mortayne? And the Grand 
Prix?” 

“ Un cheval de bataillef he told her with a 
smile. “Will you drive with me to-morrow?” 

“At five,” she promised. “If you will come 
at that hour you will be able to see my aunt 
and I will give you a cup of tea.” 

When, however, he presented himself the 
next day, Mrs. Clandon begged to be excused. 


io8 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Aunt Edith has one of her neuralgic 
attacks,” Miss Chesinde explained. “But if 
the truth were known it is that she is manu- 
facturing an escape from an evening at the 
Comedie Francaise with the de la Valliere. She 
wil-1 not acknowledge that it bores her, so she 
has to tirer d ’ affaire by base stratagem.” 

Tea did not ^detain them long. Miss Ches- 
inde looked surpassingly fair as she presided 
among the yellow tea-cups, and Mortayne 
believed her to be the more beautiful in that 
of all women she was farthest beyond his 
reach. 

They descended the stairs together, and he 
was pleased at once by the calm judgment 
which pronounced his horses faultless. The 
brilliance of the day had drawn crowds into 
the streets and it was with a sensation of ex- 
hilaration that Miss Chesinde felt thousands of 
eyes riveted upon her in admiration as she 
passed. 

“Why do they look at us like that?” she 
asked, when, turning into the Bois, they came 
to a momentary halt and joined the line of car- 
riages progressing slowly down the Allee. Just 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. IOg 

as she spoke she heard a woman, who was 
reclining in a low victoria, say to her compan- 
ion: “ Chere , regardes , c'est le Roi Americain 
la!” 

“My question is answered,” said Miss Ches- 
inde, smiling. “So they call you le Roi ; is that 
because you are so rich?” 

“Because my seat of honor is next to the 
Queen,” he replied, with a look of intentional 
admiration in his eyes. “A true Parisienne is 
the most ennuyee creature in existence. They 
have had their kingdoms and their empires 
and their regencies, and now that they have their 
republic they dub us princes — creating a mock 
royalty — as an epitaph to the past.” 

Miss Chesinde was silent for a moment. The 
gorgeous pageant of fashion passed unnoticed. 
She was thinking of the great wealth of the 
man at her side, of his wealth and power; and 
she wondered whether she had done well to 
promise herself to Guy Clandon. To love she 
gave no more thought than she gave to Saturn’s 
rings. Why should she? Ottilie de Vent-Fort 
was happy — and love? 

“I want you to tell me something,” she said 


iio 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


suddenly. “Tell me something about Madame 
de Barras.” 

He looked at her narrowly through half- 
closed lids. “What do you know of her already,” 
he asked. 

“That she has the face of a saint.” 

“Oh! You do not know her story, then?” 

Miss Chesinde neither asserted nor denied her 
ignorance. “Tell it to me,” she commanded. 

The following moment of silence which Jell 
between them, she broke by adding quickly 
and with a faint cadenceof laughter in her tone: 
“Oh! You need not be troubled on — on — that 
score, you know.” 

“I was not hesitating how to begin, but 
where,” said Mortayne. “Do you care for the 
Allee, or shall we turn off here to the right 
toward Neuilly? There are ices awaiting us 
at the Chateau Madrid, and the Hungarian 
orchestra is there.” 

“Truly, you deserve your title as king,” said 
Miss Chesinde. “Ices and the Hungarians, by 
all means.” 

In the leafy seclusion of the Boute de l’Etoile 
Mortayne began his story. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. Ill 

“Leonie de Barras — ” 

“Ah! her name is Leonie?” 

Their eyes met in a glance of quick challenge. 

“It is. Why?” 

“Nothing. I was simply wondering. It is 
rather a — pretty name. Go on.” 

“Madame de Barras is a Tunisienne,” con- 
tinued Mortayne, flicking his horses with his 
whip. “She has driven half the men in Europe 
mad by her smile. You also have not failed, I 
see, to notice its charm. When they do not go 
mad they kill themselves. There was the 
young Due de Plusrien, and Valdoraine, of the 
English embassy, and oh! half a score — shot 
or drowned.” 

‘What depravity!” declared Miss Chesinde. 
“Is her charm so irresistible? Does she never 
spare? Are men insatiate of her beauty? Do 
they never weary of a lovely mask?” 

Mortayne raised his brows. 

“Below that mask,” he said, “a soul shines. 
Every man believes — hopes, that he may find 
it.” 

“Has no man lifted the mask yet?” she 
asked, scanning his face with her cool eyes. 


1 12 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“One man — she loved him.” 

“Ah! she has loved. Well, and what of him?” 

Again Mortayne’s eyelids closed slightly as 
he turned a questioning gaze upon her. 

“He was young, impassioned. Youth mis- 
takes ecstasy for love. He thought he loved 
her. She gave all, asking nothing, and at 
length wearied him.” 

“The irony of it!” said Miss Chesinde. “She 
wearied him. Fool! Why did she not marry 
him?” 

“Men do not marry what they can buy, Miss 
Chesinde. Oh! how pale you are. You have 
taken this story too much to heart. It is only 
an episode.” 

“And honor?” 

“As for honor,” replied Mortayne with a 
shrug as he brought his horses skillfully 
through the arch of the Chateau Madrid, 
“there is no such thing as honor, nowadays, 
outside of the Jockey Club.” 

He pulled up hi£ horses and the groom 
sprang to their heads. They descended from 
the high trap, and were shown up a narrow 
flight of steps out upon a shaded balcony where 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTKETH. 1 1 3 

a small table was set with delicacies. There 
were all sorts of frozen fruits; great strawber- 
ries stuffed with cream and flavored with Ma- 
deira; pomegranates steeped in wine and con- 
gealed. 

“How delightful,” Miss Chesinde declared as 
she took a seat that overlooked the pretty 
court-yard where the blue-coated Hungarians 
were playing one of their erratic melodies in 
swinging waltz time. 

“This concoction I think you will like,” said 
Mortayne, filling her glass with a sparkling 
liquid like pale amber. “It is made of cham- 
pagne and Rhine wine and the juice of a cu- 
cumber.” There were some stephanotis blooms 
floating on the top. He noticed that her lips 
had resumed their brilliance and their smile 
which for a moment had deserted them during 
the drive. 

“I like it,” said Miss Chesinde, with the calm 
criticism of conviction in her tone. She held 
her half drained glass poised in the air. “I 
like it. There is something clandestine in its 
subtlety that makes it delicious.” 

A wave in her voice drew his eyes to her face. 


1 14 the loyalty of langstreth. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I will have some more,” she said, giving 
him her empty glass. “There is something 
esoteric about it. It is like a masquerade.” 

“You are not angry with me for bringing you 
here?” he asked. 

She raised the fine thread of her brows. 

“Not in the least, Mr. Mortayne. Why 
should I be angry? I am an American — and 
nobody will see us.” 

“You are angry,” he said. “You think I 
have taken a liberty — ” 

“Why should I not come?” she interrupted. 
“Madame de Barras comes.” 

“Madame de Barras!” 

“I have discovered her liveries,” said Miss 
Chesinde, waving her parasol of ribbon and 
lace in the direction of a Victoria that had 
just entered the enclosure. 

“My dear friend, how can you know these 
people! You should not even have heard of 
them.” 

She laughed lightly. “What do you take 
me for, Mr. Mortayne? Ah! Here is the 
Roumanian ambassador also.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 1 5 

There was a clatter of hoofs upon the pave- 
ment and Prince Vasahely entered in his curi- 
ously built phaeton, which he drove with the 
careless ease of a man whose life has been too 
successful for him to appreciate its value. 

He sprang from his trap, throwing his 
reins to the groom, and assisted Madame 
de Barras to alight. The beautiful oriental 
gave her hand to him with the unostentatious 
dignity of an empress and greeted him with a 
smile. Then, together, they made their way 
to a veranda that had been reserved for them. 
As they passed below the balcony here yes met 
Miss Chesinde’s; she saw Mortayne at her 
side, and her smile deepened. 

“ I think I must go,” said Viola, presently. 
“Not because the icie are not delicious and the 
music not alluring, but because we are dining 
with our bankers, a la financiere. They are 
the only people on earth I ever take any 
trouble to please. One cannot trifle with the 
haut finance now a days. It has been a charm- 
ing afternoon and I have enjoyed it. When 
are you going to show me Paris, Mr. Mor- 
tayne?” 


II 6 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“The Louvre?” he asked as he summoned 
his groom. 

“Yes; that.” And she laughed gaily. “Will 
you ask me to dinnerto-morrow night, with my 
aunt, of course? That is not exactly the 
Louvre, is it? But Biqnon or Voisin will do.” 

They whirled out into the Neuilly road. 

“ Miss Chesinde,” said Mortayne, “you are 
puzzling me. Do you care for me at all?” 

Her face passed rapidly through its changes 
from amusement to solemnity, from indolence 
to interest. 

“ As for that,” she said simply and with an 
almost childish shyness in her tone, “no woman 
has so many friends that she does not learn to 
value each and every one of them. You are 
my friend, Mr. Mortayne.” 

His answer, coming rapidly, surprised her. 

“ I do not know. I am not sure. Friend- 
ship is so vast one can not tell where it begins 
or where it ends; at least I can not. It is like 
a ship at sea trying to make a port at night in 
a dense mist.” 

“ Why should you wish to know where friend- 
ship ends?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. II7 

“ So as to know where love begins, Miss 
Chesinde.” 

His eyes caught the vague unrest of her lips. 

“Everything ends easily enough,” she said. 

“ At all events our friendship shall not end, 
shall it?” 

“No, it shall last — until our love begins.” 

Almost in complete silence they drove 
toward the Place de PEtoile, and from there 
skirting the Arc de Triomphe, they flew along 
the smooth decline of the Champs Elysees to 
the Rond-Point. 

At the corner of the rue Royal, where the 
scattered concourse of the traffic of the Place 
de la Concorde converges into a narrow line, 
the violet liveries of Madame de Barras again 
came into view. A faint change of color 
flashed quickly over Mortayne’s face; then, 
as the beautiful woman rolled swiftly by, Miss 
Chesinde thought that the flexible mouth 
curved itself into a smile in which was mingled 
something of pity and something of scorn. 


CHAPTER X. 


‘Poor Aunt Edith cannot go,” said Miss 
Chesinde, when Mortayne presented himself the 
next day at the appointed hour for dining. 
“She has a real headache this time.” 

Mortayne was profuse in his sympathy, but 
Miss Chesinde cut him short. 

“I am sorry because of the headache,” she 
said, “but for other reasons I am glad. Aunt 
Edith has crests and quarterings on the brain. 
She has discovered that we are descended from 
half the sovereigns of Europe. No, on the 
whole I am pleased,” she added gaily. “I 
prefer my dinner served sans sauce de sang 
bleu!' 

“Oh, then you will go, notwithstanding?” 
exclaimed Mortayne. “I was afraid — I thought 
— perhaps — ” 

“That I should stay at home with Aunt 
Edith? I could do nothing; she is surrounded 
by attendants. She has the last fashionable 
physician, the newest model medicine and the 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I ig 

latest nasty novel. This evening is yours — 
and mine.” She paused an instant, drawing 
on. her long tan-colored gloves. “Besides,” she 
added, “we must make the most of our time; 
Guy Clandon is coming.” 

She then declared herself ready to start and 
Mortayne, as he helped her into his brougham, 
felt an odd thrill of guilt take possession of 
him. 

“Not Biqnon’s,” she said, “the night is too 
divine. I should suffocate in a cabinet particu- 
lier. I have dined there once or twice with — 
somebody, I forget, and it was horribly hot.” 

“Well! Where?” 

She laughed. Her red lips parted and 
showed Mortayne the scarlet tip of her tongue 
between her teeth. “Oh!” she cried, “I thought 
you were going to show me the sights of Paris.” 

“We cannot dine at the Louvre.” 

Her lovely, low laughter went on: “No, we 
cannot dine there. But we can dine at the 
Ambassadeurs, on that little balcony. It will 
be charming to-night with the moonlight and 
the lanterns.” 

Mortayne was well enough known at all 


120 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


cafes to secure immediate attention. They 
chose a table at the farther end of the veranda, 
where they were in semi-seclusion. Below them 
in the garden, the rows of chairs were filled 
with men and women smoking, and drinking 
delicately flavored decoctions of pale hues; and 
in the distance the stage was visible through 
the trees, where La Voyante was enacting her 
spectacle. 

It was all so old and yet so novel to Mor- 
tayne. He was I'homme du Monde to his finger 
tips. He had known women in all countries and 
under all conditions. And here was a woman 
with whom he was dining alone, and yet whom 
he had never called by her Christian name, and 
in whose presence he did not light a cigarette 
without permission. He smiled grimly at the 
thought now and then. 

Miss Chesinde was gayer, more brilliant than 
ever. Her talk sparkled like wfine, and when 
she laughed she seemed to stir a tiny chime of 
bells. 

“How strange it is,” said Mortayne as he dis- 
sected a pomegranate; “ how strange that we 
should, at last, have become such good friends, 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


121 


A chance meeting in Piccadilly, a little walk in 
the park, a few moments in a crowded drawing- 
room, a drive to the Madrid — et maintenant un 
petit diner a deux! 1 had always believed you 
blasee — satiate.” 

Her lip curled with vague indolence. “Oh!” 
she exclaimed, “epicures are not gourmands. 
Because what is paltry has ceased to amuse me, 
it does not prove that I undervalue the good 
things of life. One learns the difference 
between pate de foie gras and potted liver; 
and after all terrapine au medere is no more 
indigestible than an oyster stew.” 

When dinner was finished she said over her 
coffee: “I want you to take me to the Varietes; 
they say the piece is— charming.” 

“Why should I take you?” he asked. 

“Why not? I am not your sister.” 

“No, you are not that.” 

“I am nobody’s sister,” she said. “It is only 
to their sisters that men forbid those things; 
they take their wives and their — friends.” 

“You shall go,” Mortayne told her, as he 
despatched an order for a loge. 

The play was called “Une Vierge ou Rien,” 


122 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH, 


and depicted the story of a man’s difficulties 
and perplexities to learn whether the woman 
he loved was worthy to become his wife. 
From their box, which was well situated, Miss 
Chesinde was enabled to obtain an unobstructed 
view of stage and house. Every seat was 
occupied. 

In the loge next to them sat the Roumanian 
ambassador. Miss Chesinde recognized him 
at once as the man she had seen the day 
before with Madame de Barras at the Chateau 
Madrid. He was alone and seemed greatly 
amused by the action of the piece. 

But to Miss Chesinde it seemed forced and 
overstrained. The situations were absurd to 
grotesqueness, and she thought that in the 
dialogue vulgarity over-rode wit. Once or 
twice- Mortayne laughed, and it surprised her 
that he should be appreciative. 

After one of the bits of repartee which every 
one applauded she turned round upon him: 

“Do you think that is clever?” she asked. 
“To me it sounded common. It lacked sub- 
tlety, which must be the soul of suggestiveness.” 

“Would you lil^e to go away?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 23 

“Not at all. I wish to see the end. I want 
to know whether this man marries the woman — 
whether she is pure or not. But if he really 
loved her that question would be unconsidered.” 

“How can purity be unconsidered in the 
woman one would make a wife?” 

“Oh! well,” said Miss Chesinde with a shrug, 
“of course — you are a man.” 

Presently the ambassador in the next loge 
was joined by a man whom he rose to welcome 
and whom he addressed as Prince; and thus 
becoming host was obliged to turn his atten- 
tion from the stage to his guest. 

Viola, whose seat was nearest them, could 
hear the conversation distinctly. Once she 
laughed as an anecdote reached her, and Mor- 
tayne, who was following the play, supposed 
that she was becoming interested in the action. 

She suddenly became aware that both the 
men in the adjoining box had turned their eyes 
upon her and were discussing her companion. 

“He is an American,” she heard the Prince 
say in pretty, mincing French, by which she 
judged him to be Russian. “He is worth 
millions. They call him Bon-Roi on the 


124 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


boulevards, which is an abbreviation for Bo- 
nanza King.” 

Again Miss Chesinde smiled. She wondered 
vaguely why the management had not com- 
missioned this nobleman to write a play. Then 
she turned partly away from them, giving them 
her profile to study with the air of one who 
throws pennies to beggars. 

Simultaneously the act ended in a volley of 
laughter and applause. The last few lines had 
scintillated with extravagant suggestiveness. 

“I shall not be guilty of throwing stones 
again. My own house is too transparent,” said 
Mortayne, as the fauteuils began to empty 
themselves into the foyer and cafe. “I shall 
not presume to criticise either you or Clandon 
for your choice of literature after this.” 

During the entr’acte he scanned the horse- 
shoe of the house with his opera-glass, pointing 
out celebrities as his experienced eye made 
discoveries. But Miss Chesinde replied list- 
lessly; she could catch bits of conversation 
going on in the loge next to her and had 
become interested. 

“She is beautiful, certainly,” she heard the 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


125 


ambassador say. “He is wonderful, this young 
American. Millions, my dear prince, can cre- 
ate dynasties and avert wars, but they can not 
make handsome women.” 

To which the prince with his insipid drawl 
replied: 

“Dieu! Non; but a man with millions can 
discover beauty — and buy it. I have an uncle 
who is a grand duke and a connoisseur. He 
does not purchase old masters but finds new 
genius.” 

“And has he never married, this young 
Croesus?” asked the Roumanian. 

“Married! and why? He buys women; he 
does not wed them.” 

As they rose to leave the box Miss Ches- 
inde turned her indolent gaze upon Mortayne. 

“Who are tfyose men?” she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I scarcely think 
them Parisians.” 

Her smile deepened, and she did not with- 
draw her eyes from their scrutiny of the face of 
the man at her side. Here was a man whom 
all men knew; whose fame was world wide; 
who was rich with kingly wealth; and she 


126 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

believed at that moment that he loved her as he 
had never loved any other woman before. The 
opulence of her being was roused as she con- 
templated the vista of his life stretching into 
the golden future. She believed that she had 
only to reach out her hand to grasp and share 
that future with him. She wondered whether 
he, too, thought that he might possess her. 
There had been a certain note of mastership in 
his tone of late, a curious familiarity of atten- 
tion which had flattered her vanity, leaving her 
dignity of independence upright. 

“ If I thought he believed he could win me,” 
she said to herself, slowly, “if I thought that , 
he should love me more desperately than he 
has ever loved and then go empty-handed 
away. He should know that there is one 
woman his money can not buy.” 

And yet she knew she was selling herself 
less dearly to a man less worthy of love than 
he. Bah! What had marriage to do with love? 
Nothing. She was a victim of fate; she had 
loved once and she should love always, but 
marriage was another thing. There was no 
use in the haunting remembrance of Lang- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 2J 

streth’s pleading, honest eyes, in the recollec- 
tion of the clasp of his strong hand. 

“What are you thinking of?” asked Mor- 
tayne. 

“ Of you,” she replied uncompromisingly, 
“ and of Guy Clandon and of how rich you both 
are.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she 
added, “and of Archie Langstreth.” 

“We are all equally rich then,” said he, 
“since your thoughts are of us all.” 

The entr’acte was over and the people began 
to file back into their places. The two men in 
the adjoining loge re-entered presently, bring- 
ing with them the faint aroma of Turkish 
tobacco, and also a companion whom the 
ambassador addressed as M. le Marquis de 
Brie, but who was called familiarly Bri-Bri by 
the prince. 

Bri-Bri was tall and fair and, with his white 
flower, reminded Miss Chesinde of Guy Clan- 
don. He had the same sort of pale personality 
which made him unique without bestowing 
distinction, and he began relating anecdotes 
which made his friends laugh. 

Miss Chesinde laughed, too, and as she 


128 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


turned slightly her eyes met those of the new- 
comer. 

“ Sainte Marie Vierge!" she heard him ex- 
claim in an audible whisper; “this woman here 
is the talk of all Paris. Have you not seen 
her? She is the mistress of Valentine Mor- 
tayne.” 

A faint wave of deeper color swept Viola 
Chesinde’s cheek. She did not remove her 
eyes from Monsieur de Brie’s face until he let 
his own glance fall, and then she turned away 
indolently. 

She wondered whether Mortayne had heard. 
He had grown intensely pale, but his eyes were 
fixed with quiet interest upon the stage, where 
the comedy was unrolling toward its close. 
The dim thought of how true to life the play 
was crossed Miss Chesinde’s mind, where a 
short time before she had judged it unreal and 
absurd. She did not speak again until the last 
word of the play had been said and the house 
rose as one man. 

Mortayne helped her into her light wrap, 
and as he did so she noticed that his face was 
still pale and that his lips wore a look of deter- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I2Q 

mination and energy in place of their com- 
plaisance. 

As they went out she said to him: 

“I did not quite understand what was meant 
by the last act. Was the woman pure after 
all?” 

“Yes — and no,” he told her. 

The boulevards were ablaze; the little horse 
chestnut trees gleamed emerald and white; 
there was a buzz of enjoyment in the summer 
night air. 

“Do you know M. le Marquis de Brie?” 
asked Miss Chesinde, opening and shutting 
her fan. 

“I know him,” said Mortayne. “He is the 
best shot with pistols in Europe.” 

Then the brougham drew up in front of the 
Bristol and they bade each other good-night. 

Sleep had deserted Miss Chesinde. She had 
felt weary and fatigued before, but when her 
head was once upon her pillow she could not 
close her eyes. As a last resort she summoned 
her maid and had her lights turned up and 
endeavored to read, but the book was stupid. 
She decided to write a novel herself and por- 


130 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

tray a natural woman. The women in books 
were vapid, puppet-like things, stuffed like 
dolls with the sawdust of opinionated creators. 
As for the men, they were all heroes or vil- 
lains. In real life there were no heroes; and 
suddenly she began to think of Langstreth. 

A sense of repose and rest came to her 
although she could not sleep. She no longer 
counted wearily the ticking of the clock or 
listened for the rattling of a belated fiacre. 
She could hear Langstreth ’s low voice, and it 
seemed to say “Viola! Love!” And her heart 
beat softly as it whispeard like an echo, “Ah! 
Love!” 

All night long she lay thinking of him, sleep- 
lessly; but so peaceful was her mood that the 
next day there were no traces of weariness upon 
her. 

Mrs. Clandon had recovered sufficiently to 
admit her niece into her much medicated 
presence. 

“Gracious!” exclaimed Viola as she entered 
the room, “it smells like a pharmacy.” There 
were bottles and remedies everywhere. 

Her aunt, elaborate in silk and embroidery, 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I3I 

stretched upon a couch among innumerable pil- 
lows, smiled slightly as if by doctor’s prescrip- 
tion and held out one white, nerveless hand. 

“I know, my dear,” she replied, having re- 
course to her silver flagon of eau de cologne. 
“But when one is ill one tries anything.” 

“You seem td have tried everything,” said 
Miss Chesinde, looking at some of the labels. 
“There are remedies for every known and im- 
aginary disease.” 

“Not remedies — preventives, my dear. It is 
always well to be on the safe side.” 

Viola smoothed her aunt’s hand. “You dear 
old goose,” she said affectionately, “all you 
need is cheering up. Let us take a walk in 
the rue de la Paix and look in at all the shop 
windows and pretend we are poor. It will be 
an excitement to feel one can’t buy everything 
one sees.” 

But the fashionable physician’s orders were 
not to be thus lightly cast aside. Mrs. Clandon 
declared that her nerves would never submit to 
be jostled in crowded streets. 

“ I have just had a telegram from Guy,” she 
said. 


132 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

The rapid change of subject jarred upon 
Miss Chesinde. 

“Indeed! What is his news?” 

“He will be here to-morrow.” 

“To-morrow,” repeated Viola. She felt as if 
her death warrant were being signed. 

“ He has been delayed in London,” went on 
Mrs. Clandon. “But I am sure he is most 
anxious to see you. Guy never does things 
with unseemly haste.” 

Just then it became necessary for Mrs. Clan- 
don to partake of one of her numerous restora- 
tives at the hand of her maid, and Miss 
Chesinde, manufacturing a hurried excuse, 
kissed her aunt and left the room. 

Before noon she was summoned to receive 
Mortayne. She had not expected him, and 
yet his arrival caused her no surprise. She 
gave orders to have him brought to the small 
sitting-room which formed part of the suite 
which she, herself, occupied. 

She awaited his coming, standing. She was 
dressed in a white morning-gown, and the deli- 
cate silken draperies drifted about her like 


snow. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I 33 

As Mortayne was announced she took a step 
forward to give him his welcome, and then 
halted suddenly. The look in his face checked 
her. She knew at once that something had 
happened. 

“The Marquis de Brie is dead,” he said, 
slowly. 

“ Oh !” she exclaimed, as her clasped hands 
pressed convulsively against her bosom. 

“Sit down — there,” said Mortayne, approach- 
ing her; and when the first shock had passed 
she remembered that for a brief moment his 
hand had caressed her shoulder. 

“ Forgive me for startling you, but I am not 
a man of many words. He is dead; he has 
answered his account to me and he has gone to 
answer all accounts. He died like a man, 
bravely — as I should hope to die.” 

Miss Chesinde brushed her brow with her 
hand as if to clear a mist from her eyes. 

“ You have risked your life — for me.” 

“ For my honor and for my love.” 

She rose from her chair and stood back 
from him. 

“And now I must go,” he said hastily, as if 


134 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


to throw a veil over his last words. “ I have 
come to say good-bye.” 

“You are going — away?” 

“Miss Chesinde,” he said, “you are the 
promised wife of another man. Tell me, am I 
right to go?” 

She stood before him in pale, beautiful 
silence. To Valentine Mortayne, in that hour, 
his vast wealth and the power of his name 
meant nothing since she was denied him. There 
was nothing else in the world worth anything 
save this one woman who stood before him 
in her perfect loveliness, and she was as far 
beyond him as the soul of one dead. 

“ Yes,” she said slowly, “you are right to 

go-” 

He left her without a word. 


CHAPTER XI. 


On the following day Clandon arrived. But 
Miss Chesinde declared herself too ill to see 
him. In truth she was ill. She refused to con- 
sult a physician, saying that she should be 
obliged to tell him what was the matter with her 
before he could give his diagnosis, “tliey know 
nothing — those doctors,” she told her aunt. 
“If you tell them you have a fever they pre- 
scribe anti-febrine. I shall be my own physi- 
cian.” 

Mrs. Clandon considered Viola unkind to 
refuse to see Guy. “After he has come all this 
way to see you,” she said reproachfully. 

“ He was not in such haste that he neglected 
his tailors in London on my account,” said Miss 
Chesinde. 

And then Mrs. Clandon told Guy that Viola 
felt the delay. “ She is very fond of you,” she 
said. 

All day long Miss Chesinde lay perfectly still. 
She was happy in her complete repose. She 

135 


I36 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

knew that the time would come when it would 
be necessary for her to see Guy, but she enjoyed 
the short term of probation which she ceded 
to herself. 

In the afternoon a great bunch of roses and 
riobons came from Clandon. They reminded 
her of that day when she had promised to be 
his wife, believing that he had sent those other 
roses. The remembrance of them was odious 
to her; the perfume was unbearable, and she 
commanded Lucie to remove them. 

The next morning, however, she decided that 
her reprieve was over, and she sent for Guy. 
She knew that when he came to her, and that 
she should receive his kiss, it would be sin. The 
memory of that first and last kiss which he 
had given her on the evening of their be- 
trothal, clung like shame to her lips. 

But Clandon was not at his hotel. His serv- 
ant sent the message that his master had dined 
out the evening before, and had not returned 
to his apartments since. 

The afternoon arrived, and Miss Chesinde 
ordered her carriage. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 37 

“You will not wait for Guy, then?” asked 
Mrs. Clandon. 

“Wait for him?” Miss Chesinde’s eyebrows 
arched indifferently. -“I never wait for men; 
they wait for me.” 

The Bois was resplendent. She wondered 
vaguely why there was misery in the world, 
when there seemed so much to make happiness; 
and she smiled compassionately as she saw all 
eyes, from the greatest to the least, turn toward 
her as she passed in the pride of her beauty 
and wealth. 

“If they only knew,” she said to herself, “if 
they only knew. Doubtless, the poorest of 
them is happier than I.” 

Then her heart told her that her unhappi- 
ness must be upon her own head. “You know 
where an ideal life lies — life with him. But the 
pomps and glories of the world are too dear to 
you — dearer than he! You are afraid!” 

She was afraid. Her heart spoke truly. It 
gave her keen joy in its throbbing; each pulse 
thrilled her with ecstasy. She almost com- 
prehended the delirium of martyrdom. 

The afternoon passed slowly; the pageant 


^ 1 38 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

of brilliant equipages ceased to interest her. 
“ A r hotel,” she said to her servants, and her 
horses were turned with their backs to the 
setting sun. 

In the broad sweeps in front of the Cafe 
Chinois the violet and argent liveries of 
Madame de Barras came into view. Miss 
Chesinde turned toward them. The black 
horses dashed by; the beautiful oriental 
woman, arrayed in purples of richest hues, was 
leaning back among her cushions — a man sat 
at her side. 

It was Guy Clandon. 

Miss Chesinde’s face remained perfectly 
calm. Her delicate color neither faded nor 
heightened. She felt no anger. She had 
solved a perplexing riddle and she drew a sigh 
of relief as he rolled down the broad avenue 
des Champs Elysees, 

“Guy has been here — but you were out,” said 
Mrs. Clandon in a tone of reproach, when, a 
little later Viola found her just leaving the 
hotel to dine with the Princess de V Ame. 

“Yes, I have seen him,” she replied. 

She was alone, therefore, when late in the 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 39 

evening Clandon was announced. She had 
dressed with great care and wore nothing that 
Guy had given to her. Her hands were 
jewelless. 

“How do you do,” she began as her cousin 
entered. She would have given him her hand, 
but he tried to embrace her and she stepped 
back from him. “You shall not kiss me,” she 
said firmly. “All that is at an end.” 

“Viola!” He stood in the middle of the great 
yellow room with that uncertain look of one 
awakened suddenly. 

“Sit down, Guy,” she said not unkindly. 
“Now listen.” 

“Do you mean that you do not love me?” 

“I have never loved you,” said Miss Ches- 
sinde. “Perhaps if I had I should even now be 
willing to marry you.” 

He sat down heavily as if a strong hand had 
pushed him into the chair. 

“You will not marry me?” he said accent- 
lessly. 

“No!” 

“Why not?” 

“Do you have to ask that? Doubtless you 


140 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


think I am a fool to throw away such a chance, 
but it does not give me one pang. I do not 
mean to be cruel, Guy. I have not exacted 
much from you, and I never should have done 
so. I have known you a long time, and I 
knew what to expect when I promised to be- 
come your wife. And, I think, I knew what I 
owed to you. When a woman has lived twenty- 
five years she knows what to expect of men. 
But I will not be humiliated and — and de- 
spised.” 

“Despised — my God!” exclaimed Clandon, 
as he sprang to his feet. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you think I am a fool?” she asked with 
fine scorn. “Men want to marry saints. I saw 
you driving with Leonie de Barras to-day. Go 
and marry her if you like.” 

Her words steadied him; his mind became 
clear. 

“I care nothing for her — nothing. Oh! Viola, 
if you think that — ” 

She interrupted him saying: 

“I do not think at all. I am absolutely in- 
different. You need not deny anything to me, 
or make any excuse. There is none that can 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


14 


be made. I have told you that I cannot marry 
you, and I shall never change that — never!” 

“As for marriage,” said Guy, slowly, “you 
may be right; no, hear me! A man has the 
privilege of being heard.” 

“I will listen.” 

“You may be right not to marry me,” he 
repeated. “We might not have been happy. 
You might not. But I should not have been 
unkind to you.” 

“Unkind!” Miss Chesinde’s lip curled. “No, 
I do not think you would have been unkind to 
me,” she said. “But women do not marry men 
for kindness. You would not have been true 
to me; you have not even been true to me 
now.” 

“I have not been true.” 

“Well,” she said, “I did not expect your 
faith, and I should not have demanded it. 
But I do insist upon an outward semblance of 
faithfulness. I suppose if I loved you I could 
forgive even — that; women are made so. But 
I do not love you.” 

“Oh, Viola! I love you! I love you! For- 
get what you have said; forgive what I have 


142 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


done! I swear to you to be different — He 
reached out and caught her hand. 

She withdrew it quickly, exclaiming: 

“No — no! When I have decided I am de- 
cided. I do not want your protestations, or your 
promises. When I marry a man I shall take 
him without those. If he loves me I shall not 
need them; if otherwise, I shall not want them.” 

“I love you, Viola, I love you!” 

“Love,” she said, “is a very different thing 
from what you feel for me. We will not talk 
of love, now — or ever.” Then she held out her 
hand as if to say good-bye. 

For the first time the full meaning of her 
words was borne in upon his bedimmed brain. 
He was losing her, losing this woman who was 
fair beyond all other women, whom all men 
honored and praised, who made his own lot 
an envied one. He had lived his short life an 
egotist and a voluptuary; he had denied him- 
self nothing; and now, on the brink of its 
attainment, the fairest desire of his heart was 
being snatched away. 

“Oh, God! Viola!” he cried, breaking his 
dazed silence. “I love you!” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


M3 


Her lifted hand bade him pause. “Listen to 
me, Guy,” she said. “Listen! It is all over, 
all; try to understand that. And it is better 
that it should be so. I should not have been 
true to you, Guy — I mean I should not have 
been true in heart. I love another man.” 

They faced each other for a moment in dull 
muteness. 

“Perhaps,” said Guy, “it is better. I will go 
away. Is the man you love Valentine Mor- 
tayne?” 

The sudden calmness of his voice drew Miss 
Chesinde’s eyes to her cousin’s face. The 
flush had left his brow, even his lips were pale. 
He looked miserably enfeebled and yet she 
pitied him. 

“Oh, Guy, I am sorry,” she exclaimed im- 
pulsively, “really, really, I am sorry. Will you 
forgive me?” 

“I shall not forgive him.” 

“Whom?” 

“Mortayne,” said Clandon in his teeth. “It 
was he who introduced me to — to Madame de 
Barras. Oh! I see it all now. He introduced 
me; it was all planned. What a fool I have 


144 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


been. That woman loves him, she has loved 
him always; he is the one man. And I let her 
cajole and — and flatter me, paid, bribed to do 
it by him. Oh! God; what a fool.” He 
covered his face with his hands. 

Miss Chesinde shrugged her shoulders. She 
grew a little paler at his words, and her fingers 
twitched nervously, but when she spoke her 
voice was steady and cold. 

“As for Mr. Mortayne, it makes no difference 
to me who loves him or whom he loves. I do 
not care if I never see him again.” 

She turned suddenly and walked to the door, 
opened it and went out, leaving Clandon alone 
in the middle of the yellow damask salon. 


CHAPTER XII. 


When Valentine Mortayne left Miss Ches- 
inde in Paris he regretted, for the space of half 
a day, that he had not let the Marquis de Brie 
shoot him through the heart. Everybody 
would have been happier, he thought, bitterly. 
But as the days went on he gradually became 
more reconciled to life, and made the discovery 
that there were still things worth living for. 

In London he found a letter from Langstreth, 
and at once he turned his face toward his native 
land. He had not recovered from the wound 
which Miss Chesinde had caused, but he re- 
solved to be no longer maimed by it. He 
knew that he loved her, and sometimes he 
tried to convince himself that she was not 
wholly indifferent to him; but he was forced 
to acknowledge that in the matter of encour- 
agement she had given him nothing to remem- 
ber. 

During the long days of his voyage across 
the Atlantic he reviewed the situation fully. 

10 145 


I46 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

This he had plenty of time to do, for with the 
exception of the captain and his own body ser- 
vant, he spoke to no one throughout the jour- 
ney. The smoking-room was dense with Jews 
quarreling over poker chips, and there was not 
a woman on board worth speaking of, and less 
still worth speaking to. 

Nevertheless, those quiet days on the sum- 
mer sea were very pleasant ones to Mortayne, 
and when the Liberty of Bartholdi came into 
sight he had the satisfaction of calling himself 
a fool. 

He took up his quarters at the Brevoort 
House, preferring that to the gaunt grandeur of 
his own establishment in Washington Square. 

The general exodus had taken place. All 
the mighty ones of Israel had migrated to New- 
port. The closed houses of the avenue stared 
at him coldly with shuttered windows, as if for- 
getful of the fact that he had often been a wel- 
comed guest beneath their portals. 

New York seemed odious to him. He tele- 
graphed to Newport to have his cottage in 
readiness to receive him at once, resolving on 
immediate departure. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I47 

In the meantime he went down town, and at 
half past one was standing in the entrance of 
Delmonico’s trying to manufacture an appetite. 
But he could not eat. He took a sandwich 
and then strolled out into the street again, just 
as a report was started that the board was at 
fever heat on account of a “corner” in some- 
thing; and a few men who did not know him 
and saw him go away lunchless wondered half- 
pityingly whether “that poor chap was hard 
hit.” 

He went back to his hotel and sent a mes- 
sage to Tiffany that he wished to consult with 
them concerning a wedding present for Miss 
Chesinde, and at the same time he dispatched 
a note to Langstreth. Early in the afternoon 
a deputy from Tiffany presented himself, and 
he ordered an epergne in which jeweled swans 
floated upon a crystal lake beneath palm trees 
wrought in gold. 

Langstreth was found to be out of town, and 
Mortayne felt himself doomed to a lonely din- 
ner at Del’s. “At any rate it is better than the 
Union or the Knickerbocker,” he soliloquized, 
as his servant helped him to dress; “for all the 


I48 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

men I like are out of town and the ones I 
loathe would deluge me with champagne.” 

“Shall I call a hansom, sir?” asked Lawson, 
as he fastened a flower in his master’s coat. 
But Mortayne replied that he would walk. 

Everything looked dirty in the streets. The 
dust was thick over everything, and, with a 
shudder, he wondered what it would be like in 
August. A huge dray went thundering by 
laden with long iron rods which dragged over 
the cobbles with deafening noise, and he made 
a semi-resolution never to come to New York 
again. 

Within the next block he met Langstreth. 

“By Jove! Vally— ” 

“Archie, dear old boy!” 

And they grasped each other’s outstretched 
hands. 

This was at Nineteenth street, and Mortayne 
insisted that Langstreth should go to dinner 
with him. 

“Just as you are,” he said, still holding his 
hand. “You need not make any excuse because 
I shall not accept any. Wash? Dress? Non- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 49 

sense! my boy. You are better looking than 
any man under any circumstances.” 

Langstreth attempted no further remon- 
strance. They turned into Delmonico’s and 
chose a table at an open window on the Fifth 
avenue side, and Mortayne fell to studying the 
menu. 

“As for me,” said Archie, “I like everything. 
My appetite is cosmopolitan.” 

So Mortayne ordered a dinner which an 
epicure would have appreciated, and very 
soon they drifted into the easy conversation of 
old friends. Langstreth told all the news that 
he fancied might be news to Mortayne, but 
avoided speaking of himself or his own affairs. 

“But tell me something about yourself, old 
fellow. What do I care for all the others? 
What have you been doing?” 

“Oh! I?” said Archie, and laughed. 

“Yes, you — never mind! I can soon get it 
out of Mrs. Flodden-Field. Have you been 
falling in love?” 

“Out of love, I think, Val.” 

“Perhaps, after all, I have hit the mark,” 
thought Mortayne as he filled their glasses. 


150 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“Well,” he said aloud, “you must tell me all 
about' it.” 

“You will be the first to know,” answered 
Langstreth, with an affectionate smile in his 
honest blue eyes. “Did you see Miss Chesinde 
while you were in London?” 

“Yes — that is, a little. I saw her in Paris. 
She said something about you — writing to you 
or hearing from'you, or something.” 

“Oh! did she,” said Archie, carelessly. “I 
am glad she is well. Did she look well?” 

“Do you mean handsome?” 

“She is always beautiful. I mean did you 
think she seemed happy?” 

“Oh, happy — ’’ replied Mortayne. “Yes; I 
should say very happy. I believe she has spent 
twenty thousand on her trousseau.” 

“She would enjoy that. I don’t know what 
she would dp if she were to marry a poor 
man.” » 

“Make herself miserable — and him, too,” 
said Mortayne in a tone of conviction. “She 
could endure anything but poverty.” 

It could not have been said of Langstreth 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I 5 I 

that he had scourged himself on account of 
Miss Chesinde’s choice. He had not once 
railed against fate, or reproached her. Mrs. 
Flodden-Field had told him that he was heart- 
less, because in speaking of her he had said 
that he hoped she would be happy. 

“You don’t hope that,” Mrs. Flodden-Field 
had replied; “no man living hopes that for the 
woman he loves who marries another man.” 

But Archie had insisted that he did hope she 
would be happy with Clandon. 

“I have loved her, loved her devotedly,” he 
said, with great earnestness; but he said noth- 
ing about loving her still. 


The great jug of champagne-cup, with its 
floating strawberries and lemon discs and mint 
leaves, soon bridged over the first sensation of 
distance between Langstreth and Mortayne; 
and by the time they moved their places into 
the cafe to enjoy their coffee and cigarettes, 
the two years which had separated them van- 
ished in a curling mist of smoke. 

Archie explained that he had not as yet 


152 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


received his friend’s note. “I have been in the 
country to-day,” he said, “at Fort Lee.” 

“Fort Lee!” echoed Mortayne. “Why not 
the moon?” 

He hesitated a moment, and during that mo- 
ment a slow wave of richer color swept his 
handsome face. “I’ll tell you all about it, 
Vally,” he said. “Promise not to laugh at me.” 

“I’ll weep bitterly if you like.” 

“It is serious enough I can tell you. Do you 
remember Pussy Le Clare?” 

“Perfectly,” answered Mortayne, with a ter- 
rible fear in his heart that Archie had been 
making a fool of himself or was being made a 
fool of. 

“Well,” said Langstreth, “she is dying at 
Fort Lee.” 

Mortayne could not help thinking that per- 
sonally he should prefer to hear that she was 
dying rather than living at Fort Lee, or any 
other place; but he did not say so, and seeing 
that Langstreth was in earnest he said nothing 
at all, and contented himself with calling for 
another fine chcfinpagne . 

“My own opinion,” said Archie again, “is 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


153 


that she is not dying. But she is very ill at any 
rate. Of course she has lost her engagement 
at the Casino.” 

“Well?” said Mortayne. 

“Well, Vally! That’s all. I went up to Fort 
Lee to see what I could do. You see some- 
body has got to look after her; there are a lot 
of bills and — and nurses and things. Then 
she is worrying over — the — the child.” 

“Child — what child?” 

“Clandon’s. It will be born in about six 
months, if she lives.” 

“Clandon’s? Oh, God!” cried Mortayne as 
he drew his hand across his forehead. 

Then Langstreth told the story as far as he 
knew it; how, when Clandon’s engagement had 
been announced, Pussy Le Clare had thrown 
him over entirely, and how in his anger and 
chagrin he had left her with debts which he 
had contracted himself. 

“Great God!” exclaimed Mortayne, “and 
Miss Chesinde will marry that brute.” 

“She knows everything,” said Langstreth 
with a hard glitter in his eyes. 

“Oh, no, Archie! That is too horrible.” 


154 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“She knows,” he repeated authoritatively. 
“I have done what I can ' for this other 
woman,”, he went on, as if to dismiss the sub- 
ject of Miss Chesinde. “If she gets well after 
the child is born she will be able to find an en- 
gagement soon enough, unless she loses her 
voice. The worst of it is that she is really 
fond of Clandon.” 

To Valentine Mortayne, the man of the 
world, this story sounded like rubbish, and he 
looked at Langstreth pityingly for an instant. 
He was prone to quick judgment and he 
thought he understood the case perfectly. It 
was only an instant — and he dismissed the first 
doubt of his friend for his friendship’s sake. 

“You are a dear, generous old chap,” he said 
affectionately; “and we will see Miss Le Clare 
through her bad times and get her a new voice 
if she loses her own.” 

Langstreth answered him with a smile. 

‘I hope she will pull round all right. They 
say it is darkest just before the sun rises — and 
Vally?” 

“Yes.” 

“You won’t say anything about this, will 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 55 

you? It would only make it harder for — for 
her/’ 

“For whom?” 

“For Miss Chesinde,” said Archie; “she will 
have so much to bear.” 

Thus the evening passed, and when they 
separated late that night it was arranged that 
they should breakfast together. 

But Mortayne could not sleep. Visions of 
Miss Chesinde flaunted themselves before him 
robbing him of any possibility of repose. The 
phantasm of the last two months unrolled 
itself before him. What did it mean? It was 
with a curious sensation of escape that he 
counted himself free, and yet he beat himself 
against the bars of the cage which was closed 
against him. 

Refreshed only by his bath, therefore, he 
met Langstreth at about ten o’clock on the 
following day. The two men shook hands 
warmly and Mortayne led the way to a quiet 
table in a cool recess where he had ordered 
breakfast to be served. 

“ I am going to ask you to do me a favor, 
Val,” began Langstreth the first thing. 


156 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“ Nothing I can do for you is a favor, my 
boy,” said Mortayne. “But whatever it is, it is 
granted; will you begin on the melons or go at 
once on to the fried sole? There will be kid- 
neys or something later.” 

Langstreth helped himself to a bit of melon 
and shook off the chips of ice. “You see it 
is this way, Vally; I am most awfully hard 
up,” he explained. “My indolent habits and 
expensive tastes which I inherited from my 
father cost a great deal more money than I 
inherited from my mother. Then there are 
the flowers one has to send to women and 
one’s clubs, and dinners one has to give to 
other chap’s pals because they know somebody 
one knows, and then, the button-holes and pat- 
ent leathers and all — well, you know how it is, 
Val. And somehow this year I’m devilish hard 
up; too many patent leathers, I suppose. 

“Ah! So that is what you have been doing 
in my absence,” said Mortayne, laughing, as he 
dexterously extricated the spine of a sole. “You 
have been running into debt for patent leath- 
ers; do you want me to take some extra pairs 
off your hands?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I 57 

“I don’t wear them on my hands,” said 
Archie with mock solemnity. “ And fancy you 
wearing my boots! You’d be lost in one of 
them. No, seriously, I want to effect a loan.” 

“Well, how much?” 

“Oh; a thousand.” 

“On good security?” 

“My word.” 

“ I’ll let you have five hundred thousand on 
that, Archie,” exclaimed the elder man, hold- 
ing out his hand to his friend. “ I wish we 
could come to some agreement on that point.” 

“ I am afraid we never can, Val; although I 
do believe you agree with me in your heart all 
the same.” 

But Mortayne declared that Archie was quix- 
otic. “You have mediaeval ideas,” he told 
him, “and fin de siecle surroundings. You are 
like the Vatican Hermes set up as a street 
hydrant; like an ombreof Claude-Lorrainehung 
in a gallery of realists. You lose everything 
by misplacement and spoil all the rest by con- 
trast.” 

“That’s all right,” said Langstreth, with a 
laugh. “I love to hear you talk. You give 


I58 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

everything a new flavor; you remind me of 
the olives they give to the tasters between each 
wine in the country of Burgundies.” 

Then some kidneys and an omelette with 
asparagus tips were brought on and the con- 
versation drifted to other things. The two men 
arranged to go to Newport together on the 
following day; and before they separated Lang- 
streth had the cheque for a thousand dollars in 
his pocket. 

That afternoon Mortayne went to Fort Lee. 
He found it a ghastly place. The only person 
he saw whom he knew was the foreman of a 
large “interior decorating” establishment, who 
had once done some wood-carving in his house 
in Washington Square. The man bowed conde- 
scendingly and pointed out the way to the hotel. 

Mortayne asked to see Miss Pussy Le Clare, 
and sent up his card, on which he had written 
that he was a friend of Langstreth’s. He found 
two nurses in attendance and a doctor whom 
he had knowri" in town. He was told that it 
was impossible for him to see the patient, and 
he therefore fell into conversation with the 
physician. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


159 


The primary trouble was rheumatism and 
acute inflammation of the joints. “A confine- 
ment in such a case is most dangerous,” said 
the doctor. 

“What can anybody do?” asked Mortayne. 
It seemed a terrible place to be ill and alone. 
“There must be something to be done. Who is 
paying for these nurses and — for your services?” 

“Oh! Langstreth,” replied the physician, in- 
differently. “He put the whole matter entirely 
in my hands. I have just this moment received 
a cheque for a thousand dollars to cover ex- 
penses. I hope the — the child will give him 
no trouble.” 

A hot wave swept Mortayne’s face. “No,” 
he answered, shortly, “I think not.” He 
walked up and down the room with his hands 
thrust deep into his pockets; then, without 
another word, he turned to the doctor, shook 
hands with him and took his leave. He felt as 
if he had been struck in the face by a friend’s 
hand. Within half an hour he was in the train 
en route for New York again. 

In the same car he discovered Regy Dynevor 
reeking of Poole and Piccadilly. 


/ 


l60 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“How d’ you do,” said Regy, languidly, as 
if he were accustomed to see Mortayne every 
day of his life. “What in God’s name have 
you been doing in that hole? I have been 
stopping with the Taylours at Irvington; dull, 
but respectable. Going to Newport at all?” 

“No — yes, that is — Why?” asked Mortayne, 
as he sat down and began to study Regy’s get- 
up. 

“Why? Well, man, Mrs. Thorny Thorne 
gives a ball on Friday, and there is goingto be 
a duke at it.” 

“Alive?” 

“God! Don’t you know what a duke is?” 

“I know,” said Mortayne, “what several dukes 
are. I have found them much like other men; 
some better, some worse. I am going to New- 
port to-morrow, with Langstreth, but I did not 
even know that Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne was 
there, or that she knew any dukes, or gave any 
balls.” 

“Aw! Langstreth,” drawled Regy, after a 
pause. “Rum lot; sort of Sir Galahad and John 
L. Sullivan rolled into one. Have a cigarette?” 

“Thanks; won’t you have one of mine?” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


161 


“What are they? I can’t smoke ordinary 
stuff, you know” 

“I did not know,” said Mortayne, “but one 
can always learn something from everybody. 
This is not ordinary tobacco. Try one and 
give me your verdict. By the way, who said 
that about Langstreth?” 

“Oh, well, I did,” drawled Dynevor, again, 
as he lighted one of Mortayne’s cigarettes. 
“Not bad, is it?” 

“I mean, who said it first?” 

But Mr. Reginald Dynevor was proof against 
such pricks of sarcasm. “It is one of Mrs. 
Thorny Thorne’s jokes,” he replied. 

Mortayne smiled in silence. He remembered 
when Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne had written let- 
ters to Archie calling him “ Mon Amant ,” and 
asking him to go to St. Augustine with her. 
“Well,” he said, “what do you think of my 
cigarette?” 

“Oh — ah! I had completely forgotten. Yes 
— good — very fair, indeed,” said Dynevor with 
the air of a connoisseur. His grandfather had 
laid the basis of his fortune by selling old rags 

as “genuine plug.” 

11 


i52 the loyalty of langstreth. 

“Thanks,” said Valentine Mortayne, grimly; 
“you ought to know. This tobacco was grown 
among the hills of Syria. There is only one 
plantation in the world, and it belongs to me.” 

“Aw! — splendid!” exclaimed Regy, with a 
tardy attempt at appreciation. But tobacco 
being a glass house in his case, he deemed 
it wiser to refrain from throwing stones, and 
changed the subject. “So you are going to 
Newport?” he said. “Jolly place!” 

“ It’s a very beautiful place,” said Mortayne. 

“Lots of women!” 

“Very likely; so there are in Africa.” 

“ Ypu know what I mean. ThereT no place 
where you see such a lot of lovely women 
together.” 

“The quantity I can believe. I’ll give you 
my opinion as to the quality by and by,” said 
Mortayne, producing his cigar case again 

After a few moments’ silence Dynevor vouch- 
safed the news that Evelyn Thorne was the 
beauty of the season. 

“ So Langstreth told me,” replied Mortayne. 

“ Langstreth knows everything; seems to 
have a way of ‘ getting there ’ with the girls.” 







. the loyalty of langstreth. 163 

As Dynevor made this remark he assumed 
a sort of injured air as if girls, in general, were 
his particular right. “Why doesn’t he marry 
some one and be done with it?” 

“I really can’t tell you why. Not for the 
same reason you don’t.” 

“How much has he got?” asked Regy. 

“Money — or muscle?” inquired Mortayne, 
slowly. “Why don’t you ask him?” 

Dynevor laughed fatuously. “Everybody 
says he is hard up,” he asserted. “But I don’t 
understand why. He doesn’t keep any horses, 
and he hasn’t a valet; and the Lord only knows 
where he gets his clothes."” 

Mortayne looked at his companion with the 
air of a man who foregoes killing a poisonous 
insect for the sake of not soiling his hands. 

As for that, Archie Langstreth is out and out 
the best dressed man I know,” he said uncom- 
promisingly, “and I know the best dressed 
men all over the world. He looks more thor- 
oughly an aristocrat in his rough tweeds than 
the rest of us do in our silk-woven evening 
clothes. He is not dependent either upon 
valets or gardenias to be a gentleman.” 


164 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“By Jove!” simpered Regy, with a drawl as 
long as a royal pedigree. 

Mortayne said nothing in return, preferring 
silence and a cigar. 

“I suppose,” went on Dynevor again, “that 
you saw Viola Chesinde in London?” 

Mortayne felt inclined to murder him and 
run the risk of capital punishment. 

“Yes, I saw Miss Chesinde,” he replied, “and 
I saw a great deal else, too; Piccadilly for 
instance, and St. Paul's.” 

“Did you; oh!” said Dynevor. “Do you 
know I always expected that Miss Chesinde 
and Langstreth would make a match of it.” 

“I hope you do not feel disappointed that 
your expectations have not been realized.” 

“Mrs. Thorny Thorne says they will do it 
yet, now that Langstreth has come into his 
money,” declared Regy. 

For the first time in his life Mortayne felt 
interested in Dynevor’s words. “Money!” he 
repeated, “what money?” 

“Well, not much,” acknowledged Regy, who 
spent ten thousand a year at his tailors and 
haberdashers; “not much, to be sure. About 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 65 

two hundred thousand, I believe. Some old 
uncle died in Brazil or somewhere.” 

Mortayne was completely surprised. To be- 
gin with he had never heard that Langstreth 
had any uncle in Brazil, or anywhere; but that 
did not astonish him so much as the fact that 
having come into a fortune, Langstreth should 
begin at once to borrow money. He had 
known Archie for years and he had been per- 
fectly well aware that he had been “devilish 
hard up,” as he himself had said, but he would 
never accept a loan. “Thank you, Vally,” he 
used to say when Mortayne made one of his 
offers. “Thank you, old fellow; but if I begin 
like that I shall never end at all. If I can’t 
live on what I have, how can I ever pay you 
what I owe?” To which his friend would re- 
ply that he need not pay. “But that is not 
borrowing,” said Archie, “that’s accepting, and 
I’m not so poor as that in body or soul.” 

There was not much more conversation be- 
tween Mortayne and Dynevor, and presently 
the train ran into the station at Forty-second 
street and they separated. 

Regy, in a high falsetto voice, hailed a han- 


1 66 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

som, and Mortayne, with a sigh of relief, start- 
ed on foot down the avenue. 

He was puzzled and disappointed. He 
smiled a little scornfully to himself as he 
thought of Pussy Le Clare and her doctor’s 
bills, and that pretty little story about Lang- 
streth’s patent leathers. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s duke sank into 
comparative insignificance when it became 
generally known in Newport that Mortayne 
had arrived. 

Dukes were all very well, and Mrs. Thorn- 
croft Thorne was a woman prone to reverence 
the mighty, but she knew that there were thirty 
dukes in the British peerage, barring Royalty, 
and she also knew that there was but one Val- 
entine Mortayne in the world. Even Regy 
Dynevor fell into the background for the first 
time since Guy Clandon had deserted to the 
enemy and left poor Evelyn a shorn lamb. 
Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne, confounding Sterne 
with the prophets in her religious enthusiasm, 
thought that perhaps this was the “ tempered 
wind.” 

She lost no time in dispatching one of her 
aloe-perfumed, rosy-hued and silver-crested 
notes to Mortayne, at the Casino Club, request- 
ing his presence at the ball which had seemed 
such a momentous an affair to Reggy Dynevor. 


1 68 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

She wrote a very pretty hand and said one or 
two pleasant things in welcome, and when 
Mortayne opened the letter as he and Langs- 
treth sat at luncheon, he mentally decided that 
he had done well to return to his native land. 
The Chablis he was drinking was good; the 
filet was done to perfection; the day was 
divine, there was music in the court-yard of the 
Casino; and there were lovely women every- 
where. 

The two men had reached Newport late the 
evening before, and it was a source of conject- 
ure and amusement to them how any one knew 
of their arrival. 

“I have invitations to half a hundred dinners 
this month,” said Langstreth as he refilled his 
glass. “The life here has resolved itself into 
a perpetual pate de foie gras of eating and 
ennui. I sometimes think that the isolation of 
a cenobite would be preferable to the indiges- 
tion of a cannibal.” 

Mortayne laughed: “Your alliteration sur- 
passes your casuistry. We are not breakfast- 
ing upon epigrams. Here is something better. 
What do you say to Cailles de Vigne a la 


, THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. l6g 

Lucullus and another bottle of wine? Pessi- 
mism, my dear Archie, is simply another name 
for liver! By the way, are you going to Mrs. 
Thorncroft Thorne’s ball?” 

“Oh, yes, I shall go,” said Langstreth, “to 
pay my homage to Miss Evelyn Thorne as the 
‘reigning, beauty’ — and to see Mrs. Flodden- 
Field.” 

Evelyn Thorne had once declared that 
Langstreth was her ideal; and her mother had 
ridiculed the idea and the ideal, and had called 
Evelyn’s enthusiasm mediaevalism. Personally 
Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne thought Langstreth 
the handsomest man she knew; but then, she 
was a widow and was worth a million or’ two, 
and felt at liberty to indulge in mediaeval 
enthusiasms. Evelyn was too young for 
idealisms and too poor to be enthusiastic over 
penniless athletes. That, at least, was the 
point of view which Evelyn’s mamma took. 

Nevertheless, when the night of the ball 
arrived, Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne received 
Langstreth and Mortayne with equal cordi- 
ality, for the moment forgetting her duke. 

“Evelyn, my love, this is Mr. Mortayne;” 


170 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

and then Mortayne conducted the shorn lamb 
into the maze of the dance. 

“You must talk to me,” said his hostess to 
Archie, as fewer guests were announced ahd 
she had a breath’s space of time left free. “So 
you have come to Newport again — to see your 
old friends. I am so glad.” 

She knew how to look glad, and she curved 
her delicately carmined lips into a sensuous 
smile. She would have done a good deal for 
Langstreth, after her own fashion, but she had 
no intention of throwing him within the 
compass of Evelyn’s sensitive susceptibilities; 
to tell the truth, she was honestly sorry that he 
had turned up again in Newport, although she 
had contemplated asking him to spend Sep- 
tember with her in Lenox, having previously 
ensconced the shorn lamb within the prosy 
precincts of her grandmother’s domain in 
Westchester. 

Therefore at the end of the waltz, when 
Mortayne returned Evelyn to her mother’s 
care, that mother was not displeased to see 
Langstreth’s attention called away by the 
entrance of Mrs. Flodden-Field. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 171 

Mrs. Flodden-Field declared that she was too 
old to dance; which proved her too young to 
give it up. “No, no,” she insisted; “I am too 
old.” 

“Too sensible,” said Archie. “But give me 
the next waltz and we will sit it out. Give me 
two numbers and come on to the piazza.” 

“The next is the duke’s,” she replied. “He 
would never forgive me.” 

“Never mind — do you care?” asked Lang- 
streth. 

“Not in the least. Come along; 1 know a 
charming place where there are bamboo chairs 
and Chinese screens and lanterns.” 

They walked along the palm-bordered ver- 
anda, and came at length to a small, octagonal 
pagoda; crescent-shaped lanterns looked like 
miniature moons, and shed a vague radiance 
over the enticing seclusion. 

Mortayne was standing there alone, lighting 
a cigarette. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field shook hands with him 
cordially. “We have interrupted your smoky 
solitude,” she said, “but we will give you 
sweet sympathy instead. No, do not throw 


172 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


away your cigarette. I like it. You and 
Archie can smoke and I will tell you a bit of 
news.” 

They both began to hazard guesses. 

“No,” she said again, laughing, “it is not 
an engagement. Tout au contraire" 

They had taken seats in a distant, shadowy 
corner, where only the mournful wail of the 
violins reached them faintly. 

“Oh! tell us please,” begged Mortayne. 
“Birth, marriage, or death?” 

“None — une affaire flambee .” 

There was a moment of silence in which 
they listened to a sea-gull’s cry. Then she 
went on: 

“Viola Chesinde has broken her engagement 
and is coming home.” 

Langstreth was perfectly still; but the cigar- 
ette fell from between Mortayne’s fingers, and 
he leaned heavily against the back of his chair. 

“I only heard to-day,” continued Mrs. Flod- 
den-Field. “Viola cabled me from Queens- 
town. She will be here in a week. Well, 
Archie?” 

“Well!” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I 73 

“Why don’t you say something?” 

“What is there to say? Oh, Val! are you — 
ill?” 

“No, not ill,” said Mortayne as he got up. 
“I am tired to death of dancing, that is all. I 
hear my waltz beginning, and I must go and 
hunt up my partner. Is it safe to leave you 
two alone?” 

“I am going to make desperate love to Mrs. 
Flodden-Field,” said Langstreth. 

“You will have some one else to make love 
to now,” she replied as Mortayne disappeared. 

“As for — love,” said Archie. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field struck him playfully 
with her fan. “You are not going to make 
yourself miserable, are you?” 

“She did not hesitate to make me miserable,” 
he said. 

“Heavens, Archie! Anyway, she has given 
Clandon up now, and there is only one thing 
for you to do. You are independent. You 
said once that she would marry you on ten 
thousand a year.” 

“She said so once.” 

“She will say so again.” 


174 THE loyalty of langstreth. 

“Not to me,” replied Langstreth. “At least 
I shall not ask her.” 

“Do you mean that?” 

“Absolutely! I shall never ask her — or any 
woman — that!' 

“Then all I can say is that you are — are 
wicked,” declared Mrs. Flodden-Field. 

“Wicked?” 

“Yes — and ungrateful; ungrateful to me.” 

“I am not ungrateful,” he told her; and as 
he leaned over and touched her hand she saw for 
the first time that he was pale. He got up 
then, and walked once up and down the illum- 
inated balcony. “I am not ungrateful, indeed; 
I am only unnerved.” He pressed his palms 
against his temples. 

“Dear Archie,” she said, gently, “we will 
not talk about it any more. I am stupid, but 
I have your happiness at heart.” 

While she spoke a dull pain smote that kind, 
unselfish heart. She thought for one brief 
instant of what her own shallow life might have 
rounded itself into if she had been so blessed 
as to have won this man’s love. 

It could not have been said of Flodden-Field 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 75 

that he actually treated his wife unkindly, or 
ill-used her, but the ten years of her marriage 
had been full of degradation and indignity. She 
had married him during her first season. She 
gave herself to him in all the freshness of her 
girlish ideals. Then had followed a terrible 
awakening; a few months of dazed incredulity, 
a little while of positive pain — and then resig- 
nation. Thus at thirty she was wont to regard 
her life as past, and it was only in unguarded 
moments that her heart beat again at the grave 
of her buried happiness. 

Yet, withal, she was very gay. No one ever 
saw the pall of that dead past. Her laugh was 
as free as air; her smile was as bright as a 
summer day. To love she gave no thought, 
although sometimes, in the presence of an 
honest, true-hearted man, her smile would be- 
come sad without losing its radiance. 

She had known Langstreth from his boyhood, 
and she had loved him as a sister loves, until 
her unhappy life aged her in her own eyes, 
and she came to look upon him as a son. 

“Now that you have come to Newport,” she 
said next, “I suppose I shall see something 


I76 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

of you. I have built a new room at Aidenn, 
and I want you to criticise it. When will you 
come?” 

“ Whenever you ask me.” 

“ Must I ask you?” she said smiling. “Next 
week you will not need an invitation. Viola 
Chesinde will be with me, you know.” 

“ I know you are the best friend a woman 
ever had,” he told her. 

“ Or a man either,” she added. “ I am a good 
friend to you — ” 

Their hands met suddenly in the darkness. 

Mary Flodden-Field knew well the tender, 
strengthful clasp, but the chill that lay in his 
palm startled her. 

“ My dear friend,” she said in a gentle whis- 
per, “ you are tired to-night; this sort of thing 
is wearing you out. Go home and go to bed.” 

He told her that he had twenty waltzes 
engaged and showed her a fan which a woman 
had given him as a hostage. 

“ Leave them,” said Mrs. Flodden-Field. 
“ What do you care. They will forgive you 
easily enough, mon ami. Let me have the fan. 
I will take it to Geraldine Clytheroe and tell 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. l/J 

her that I found it where you left it.” She 
knew that women would pardon Langstreth 
unto seventy times seven. “ Will you go home, 
now?” 

“ Unless you promise me every dance and 
let me take you out to supper,” he said. 

She laughed gaily. “ There would be food 
for scandal more delicious than Mrs. Thorn- 
croft Thorne’s delicacies. No, I must obey my 
social obligation for an hour or two more.” 

“And what of mine?” 

“ Oh! You must obey me; that is your only 
obligation,” she declared, just as a man ap- 
proached, having invaded their seclusion, and 
claimed a promised dance. 

Then she said good-night to Langstreth, who 
gave her his word that he would go home. 

He went slowly back to his rooms. It was 
not until he was alone that he realized how 
weary he was of everything except solitude. 
For once he was glad that Mortayne was not 
with him. 

He sat down near an open window and filled 

his pipe and lighted it. He held the bowl 

caressingly as he might hold the hand of a 
12 


1^8 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

friend, resting his elbows on the window-sill 
and looking out into the night. 

He could not tell what his feelings were now 
that he heard that Miss Chesinde was coming 
home. He should see her; he should hear her 
voice and catch the splendor of her cool, grey 
eyes, and, perhaps, breathe the subtle aroma of 
her beauty — if she were close to him. Was it 
joy or pain? Should he suffer or delight? He 
knew that he had loved her, and he had told 
her of his love — that it was eternal. He 
believed that he should never love any other 
woman. But she had been false to him and to 
herself. 

He sat at the open window until the grey 
dawn flickered palely. He heard the carriages 
rolling home one after another from the ball, 
bearing their faded beauties through the ghastly 
light of early day. 

Then the friendly sound of a small coupe 
met his ears and seemed to bring a new burden 
of peace to his mind. He recognized it at 
once as the carriage of Mrs. Flodden-Field. 
The side lamps burned red in the wan light. 
Inside he could distinguish the cloud-like film 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 yg 

of lace which she had worn, and for one brief 
instant he caught the vision of her face resting 
upon the palm of her hand. 

Suddenly a great tranquility came over him. 
The tortuous skein of his thoughts untangled 
and stretched before him in a long vista of 
repose. The soft air of the summer dawn blew 
in freshly, fanning his cheek and brow. A new 
day was at hand. 

He got up and went to his bedroom. The 
window blinds were closed and the darkness 
forced his eyelids to fall over his weary eyes. 
He tumbled into bed and slept dreamlessly 
with the soothing roll of a small coupe droning 
in his ears, and the pale remembrance of a 
woman’s face keeping watch in his mind. 

When he awoke it was broad daylight. 
There was a low hum of heat in the August air. 
The servant who brought him his breakfast 
vouchsafed the interesting information that “it 
was a fine day, sir,” and proceeded to arrange 
his bath. 

It was about ten o’clock when Mo.rtayne was 
ushered into the small room where Langstreth 
received his guests. “How are you, Vally?” 


l80 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

he called out, between the cascades of water 
which he threw over himself. “Sit down and 
make yourself at home; there is a new novel 
on the table. It is as dull as a debutante, and 
as nasty as an English burlesque.” 

Mortayne wandered about the room aim- 
lessly, noting the rifles and fishing tackle of 
the true sportsman. Upon the wall were 
crossed some long-disused foils, a pair of spurs 
worn in some forgotten race, boxing gloves 
and small firearms of all descriptions. In front 
of a low divan stood a table littered with pipes 
and cigarettes, the paraphernalia of luxurious 
siesta. Near a window a writing table, strewn 
with letters and invitations, gave evidence of 
favoritism. A few big easy chairs covered in 
dark leather completed a room that was mas- 
culine, only escaping bareness by the multitude 
of its comforts. 

Presently Langstreth appeared from his 
dressing-room, clad in a loose suit of flannels. 
He shook hands with Mortayne and proceeded 
at once to break an egg. “I am as hungry as 
the proverbial hunter,” he said, “ and as fit as a 
king.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. l8l 

Indeed he looked like a king as he stood in 
the sun-flooded room, crowned with his waving, 
golden hair. Royalty paled before manhood. 
Mortayne made obeisance to him as to a sov- 
ereign. 

He felt effeminate in Langstreth’s presence; 
and this sensation was at once novel and ex- 
hilarating to him. He loved the powerful grasp 
of his hand, the unaffected simplicity of his 
bearing, the fearlessness which the knowledge 
of his strength gave him; he loved the tender 
tones of his voice which he had heard at times 
raised above the roar of wind and sea; he en- 
joyed the consciousness of his own insignifi- 
cance which the magnitude of Langstreth’s 
nature made apparent. He felt toward him 
something as a woman feels toward the man she 
loves and whom she knows is strong in his pro- 
tection of her — that she would sacrifice herself 
and suffer for him. But Langstreth was as un- 
conscious of this strange magnetism as he was 
of his beauty and strength which produced it. 

He offered his friends a share of his light re- 
past, but Mortayne declared that he had break- 
fasted already. If the truth had been known he 


182 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


had eaten nothing. He had sat down before a 
table groaning with delicacies and had risen 
with dry lips. 

He remained silent in his seat at the window 
while Langstreth ate his breakfast, then he 
got up suddenly and went to the mantelpiece 
where there were a few articles less warlike and 
less masculine. Among these, in a leathern 
frame, stood a photograph of Mfss Chesinde, 
and at the foot of the picture was scrawled in 
bold characters : “ Qui sait ou s' en vont les roses?" 

Mortayne took up the picture and looked at 
it earnestly. It showed Miss Chesinde in eve- 
ning dress leaning against an Egyptian screen; 
there was an Ibis upon one side and the wing 
of a Sphynx on the other. Her hands were 
clasped loosely, and although her lips were 
grave there was an enigmatic smile in her 
eyes. 

“Have you ever sent roses to Miss Ches- 
inde?” he asked as he put the photograph in 
its place again. 

Archie looked up from the cigarette he was 
choosing. “ Yes,” he said slowly, “ I have sent 
her roses.” 






THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 1 83 

“ What do you suppose she did with them? ” 
“ Qui sait” answered Langstreth, indolently, 
as he lighted his cigarette. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Mrsr Flodden-Field had named her place 
“Aidenn.” She had built the house to suit her 
own fancies and requirements, and she did not 
care two straws because people called it hide- 
ous. To those favored ones to whom she 
opened her doors it always seemed charming. 
There was no welcome so cordial, no sympathy 
so sincere as hers, and people forgot the un- 
gainly excrescences and irregularities of the 
exterior in the enjoyment of the perfection 
within. 

When Langstreth rode out there a day or 
two after Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s ball, he did 
not notice at all that there was a Swiss balcony 
over a Moorish arch, or that there were Cairene 
windows with Gothic panes of glass. He did 
not think of anything except the dainty little 
woman who stood at the open door smiling her 
welcome. 

“So,” she said, “you have come at last. Is it 
unwomanly of me to tell you that I have been 
waiting? I think not.” 

184 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. - 1 85 

He sprang from his horse and stood at her 
side, hat in hand, still holding the bridle. “Ah! 
that was half the pleasure of coming — to know 
that you were waiting to receive me.” 

“Did you know it?” she asked, with a fleeting 
wonder in her eyes. “How well you are look- 
ing, Archie.” 

“I am well. I am always well,” he told her, 
as he surrendered his horse to the care of one 
of the stable boys. “I was tired that night, but 
the rest which you enforced pulled me round 
in no time.” But he did not confess that he 
had sat up through those long hours, wearily, 
until, in the pale dawn, he had caught the 
vision of her face, and that not until then had 
sleep come to him. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field led the way into the 
house. “I must show you my new room,” she 
said. “Somebody told me it looked like a ‘junk 
shop’ after a brawl. I call it my Chinoiserie.” 

Everything was from China. There were 
objects of beauty and % value on every side, and 
the air was perfumed with the orient. They 
sat down in huge divan-like chairs, and Mrs. 
Flodden-Field rang for tea. 


1 86 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“What do you think of it?” she asked. 

“I do not think of it,” he said simply. “I 
only think of you.” 

For a breath’s space of time her eyelids 
trembled; a vague sensation of giddiness came 
over her; something seemed straining to rupt- 
ure in her breast. But her serene smile did not 
fade. 

“If you like it,” sloe said with earnestness, 
“then I am satisfied. I wonder if they think I 
care for their criticisms.” 

In her heart she cared for nothing in the 
world but the happiness of the man at her side. 
She had not dreamed of his love; no possible 
future in which her own happiness lay beside 
that love had ever entered her mind. She had 
not said to her heart, “it can never be,” because 
she had never dreamed that it might be. Yet 
she did realize that of all men he alone was the 
one for whom sin would become sinless, for 
whom sacrifice would be egotism. 

When tea was brought shk made room for it 
upon a little irregular-shaped table which 
stood near her, and Langstreth watched her as 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I 8 / 

if she were something which belonged to him 
and of which he was proud. 

“There is nothing,” he said, “that gives a 
man a sense of conscious rectitude so much as 
this act of tea-drinking in a woman’s presence.” 

“Men, after all, are only children — over- 
grown,” said Mrs. Flodden-Field with a light 
laugh. “You all need a woman to take care of 
you.” 

“Do I look like a child?” 

“Oh! I am not speaking of your body. You 
are Hercules. I am speaking of your— heart.” 

There was a moment of silence before he 
replied. “Listen,” he said gently, as he 
reached over and touched her hand. “I will 
tell you how it is with me. You have known 
of my love always for — for her; you have 
known because you are a woman and have 
understood me. At first I did not know it 
myself, because, I think, when love is very 
deep it lies hidden out of sight. But when 
from boy and girl we grew to be man and 
woman, with other loves around us, then I 
knew that I loved her greatly, so greatly, that 
when she left me for that other man she slew 


1 88 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

my love with one blow. I had given her my 
youth and my manhood which I had kept pure 
for her sake, and she cast them aside. I did 
not blame her;” he paused and turned his face 
toward an open window where the sea-breeze 
blew in, fresh and salt-laden. “But I do blame 
her now. I forgave her utterly then; it may 
have been presumption to think I had anything 
to forgive. She was honest to me, for she 
made no defense of herself; and she was hon- 
est to herself inasmuch as she made no pre- 
tense of her love. But now,” he continued 
with slow emphasis, “ now I do blame her for 
what she has done. It is dishonest; it — is — ” 

“Dishonest!” cried Mary Flodden-Field, in- 
terrupting him. “You are bold in your denun- 
ciations, at least. It is honesty, Archie — and 
love. She is truer to herself in this than she 
has ever been. She has given up — everything, 
and she is coming home to you.” 

“Clandon is something, perhaps,” said Lang- 
streth with a touch of bitterness, “but I think 
he was not everything even to Miss Chesinde.” 

“You know what I mean, Archie.” 

“You mean his wealth and position. Yes, 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


89 


that was everything to her. But she has not 
given them up for me. I do not pretend to 
understand why she has given them up, but, in 
resigning them, she has thought nothing of me 
— of my joy or sorrow.” 

“She has weighed her future and found it 
wanting,” said Mrs. Flodden-Field. 

“She did not weigh my future,” said Archie. 
“She knew what her future must be — and mine, 
before she promised herseli to him. She 
knew that she was condemning me to celibacy 
and herself to sin.” 

“Oh, Archie! I cannot — I will not, listen to 
you. You shall not say those things. Here is 
a woman who has made a mistake; a woman 
who loves you and whom you love, and now 
when she has found out that she is wrong and 
is coming back to redeem herself, you set up 
your cheap arguments against her.” 

“She made no mistake,” he said. “But even 
allowing that, I do not think that she has done 
right now.” 

“What do you think she ought to do? Marry 
Clandon?” 

“Yes.” 




s 


igo THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“Archie!” 

“She had given him her promise.” 

“But such a man.” 

“She knew all that.” 

“No! not that he was a — a drunkard and a 
libertine,” said Mrs. Flodden-Field, her face 
growing pale with a sense of shame at her own 
words. 

“Yes — that!” declared Langstreth. “She 
knew everything. He went into her presence 
while he was drunk on the very day she 
promised to be his wife. I passed him as he 
was entering the house — he was reeling.” 

“Then,” said Mrs. Flodden-Field, “we should 
be thankful that she has seen the light at last, 
before it was too late.” 

“No one is more thankful than I,” said 
Archie, “that she should be spared pain.” 








CHAPTER XV. 

On the day after Miss Chesinde’s arrival in 
Newport, Langstreth rode over to Aidenn 
again. He was not anxious to see her and yet 
he felt that he could not stay away. He half 
hoped that she would not be visible, and at the 
same time the thought gave him a keen sense 
of disappointment. As he cantered along the 
ocean-bound road, he repeated to himself 
twenty times that he was utterly indifferent to 
the woman he was going to see. 

Valentine Mortayne had left Newport on his 
yacht for a flying visit to Bar Harbor to pro- 
pitiate an aged aunt who considered herself 
neglected if he did not sacrifice a fortnight of 
his time annually to smoking cigarettes on her 
piazza and listening to her scandals. 

Therefore, Langstreth had had time to 

diagnose his feelings with care, and as he rode 

along through the beautiful diversified country, 

first over a smooth beach, then up a rocky in- 
191 


192 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

cline, he stroked his horse’s neck and said half- 
aloud that he did not love Miss Chesinde. 

He had loved her; he did not deny that. 
And he loved the memory of his love as if it 
were some dead friend whom he had laid in the 
grave. His love was dead. 

When he reached Mrs. Flodden-Field’s villa, 
he sent his horse to the stable and was informed 
that Miss Chesinde would receive him. He was 
shown into the drawing-room, making a mental 
apology for his riding-breeches and unconven- 
tional get-up. On a table was a huge jar full of 
violet-colored orchids which he recognized at 
once as having been sent by Mortayne. He 
knew the room well; he had often sat in its 
shadowy recesses with Mrs. Flodden-Field, 
and yet now the atmosphere of the place 
seemed changed. 

As, after a few moments, the rustle of Miss 
Chesinde’s approach met his ears, he felt no 
shade of nervousness although a slight moisture 
dampened his brow. 

Then, suddenly, he beheld her, coming 
toward him with both hands outstretched and 
a glad cry on her lips. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


193 


“ Oh, Archie !” Then her hands met his, and 
she became aware of his pallor and of the chill 
which lay in his palm. 

“I hope you are well,” he said with slow 
gravity. “Had you a good voyage?” 

She did not know whether to laugh or to cry. 
She did neither, and only drew back from him 
as if in pain. She shrugged her shoulders and 
let her hands fall passively. 

“I am always bored to death at sea. I read 
a dozen novels and injured my eyes. One’s 
maid is an ennuyante traveling companion.” 

While she spoke all the gladness which had 
transfigured her face faded, leaving it almost 
haggard. She sat down and motioned Lang- 
streth to a chair. It was then, as a fuller light 
fell upon her, that he saw the change which had 
befallen her. She was not less immeasurably 
lovely, but she seemed to him to have lpst 
something of youth and something of purity. 
She was not pale, but her color was neither the 
flower of health nor the flush of surprise. Her 
eyes were heavy with darkened lids. 

“A good many things have happened since 
we last saw each other,” said Miss 'Chesinde, 

13 


194 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“and yet here we are again, Archie — you and I, 
unchanged.” 

“I am afraid we are changed.” 

She was silent a moment. He was wound- 
ing her terribly. She had given so much 
thought to this first meeting; all those long, 
dreary days on the sea she had sat patiently 
brooding on the joy that was to come of it. 
Yet she felt no anger toward him that when 
she was baring her breast to him he should 
stab her mercilessly. She knew that she had 
caused him intense gain, and she took this 
hour of her own humiliation and suffering as 
her just reward. 

“I, at least, am the same, Archie.” 

“Perhaps,” he said, “you have had nothing to 
make you change.” 

She looked at him enigmatically, then she 
shrugged her shoulders again. 

“Perhaps not. Where is Mr. Mortayne?” 

“In Bar Harbor. He hates it there.” 

“Then why does he go?” she asked quickly. 
“He is rich enough to go where he likes; at 
least, rich enough to avoid going where he does 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. I95 

not like. If I were as rich as that I would 
buy what I hated and destroy it.” 

“You would be a tyrant where Mortayne is a 
protector,” said Langstreth. 

She raised her eyebrows. “I should not call 
him either tolerant or forbearing,” she replied. 
“I saw a great deal of him in Paris. They call 
him Bon-Roy there.” 

“He told me he saw you; but he did not say 
‘a great deal.’ ” 

“People’s points of view are so different,” said 
Miss Chesinde with a little laugh, which for the 
first time reminded him of her as he had known 
her in the past. “What is much to one may be 
little to another. I should certainly say I saw 
a great deal of Mr. Mortayne, and I can only 
take it as a compliment that he does not say 
the same of me. He has sent me these orchids, 
violet ones, on account of my name. It is 
rather pretty, I think — the idea. He gave me 
roses once, yellow ones, like those you sent 
me. Do you remember? I told him that of 
all flowers, I hated yellow roses the most.” 

“ And do you?” 

“Do I?” She repeated the two words lowly. 


I96 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

She would have gone to him then and put her- 
self in his arms; she would have rested her 
head upon his breast; she would have knelt at 
his feet. “ Do I ?” she said again, “ I love them 
better than anything — best of all things.” 

“ I will send you some roses,” he said. 
“ There is so little that a man can do.” 

Her hand went to her bosom ; the pain in her 
heart almost made her cry out. She had 
expected him to do all things for her; at least 
that one thing that meant all things to her now; 
to tell her of his love and to take hers. The 
magnificence of his manhood smote her. 
And this she had sacrificed, discarded, for that 
hollow dream of wealth which had destroyed 
her. Now, he was telling her that he would 
send her some yellow roses, because there Avas 
so little he could do. 

“ I used to tell you not to send roses — in the 
old days. Do you remember, Archie?” 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“You have not called me ‘Viola’ once, yet. 
Can you not say it now?” 

“ It seems so long ago. Perhaps that is one 
of the things I have forgotten.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. igy 

Her lips curled. “Well, I shall not forbid 
the roses any more,” she said again. “ You are 
richer than you were once; although you still 
must pay for your patent leathers.” 

He looked up at her quickly. A sudden 
irritation swept over him. “You did not tell 
me you had received a letter from Mortayne.” 

“I did not deny it, certainly ” she replied 
languidly. “It was a short letter of welcome. 
In it he happened to mention that he wished 
he could do something for you; you had so 
many expenses— so many patent leathers.” 

“Mortayne has done something for me,” said 
Archie. “He has loaned me a thousand 
dollars.” 

“Oh! to buy boots?” 

“No, to buy roses.” 

Miss Chesinde got up and went to the 
window. Langstreth could not see her face, 
but the wind from the ocean came in and 
ruffled her burnished hair, making it look like 
a halo round the head of a saint. 

“Very well,” she said, “then I shall expect 
them. Am I to thank you or Mr. Mortayne for 
them? I do not want to make another mistake.” 


I98 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The last roses you sent — oh! I wish you 
had not sent them,” she exclaimed with a 
vague desperation in tone and gesture. “In 
my heart I had promised myself to the man 
who sent them — ” 

“And then?” 

She paused, steadying her voice with a wild 
hope. “Guy Clandon claimed me,” she 
whispered; “he told me they were from him.” 

“Oh, God! Viola!” Langstreth stood up and 
covered his eyes with his hands. 

At that moment Mrs. Flodden-Field entered 
the room; she gave a little startled cry as she 
came forward. 

“My dear Archie,” she said, “you are as 
white as a sheet. These long rides in the sun 
are not good for you. Come into the smoking- 
room and have a glass of sherry; you are posi- 
tively ghastly.” Then she turned to the 
windows where Miss Chesinde stood gazing 
out upon the sea. “Come, Viola,” she con- 
tinued, “it is time for tea. I have ordered it 
on the balcony outside the fumoir. The view 
is lovely from there at sunset,” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


199 


The little veranda was as luxurious as a 
Turkish bazaar. It was shadowy with blinds 
made of scented reeds woven in colors and 
quaint designs. Mrs. Flodden-Field expati- 
ated upon the elysium of a wide divan ren- 
dered tempting with pillows, and pushed 
Langstreth gently into this low resting place. 

Very soon the tea was forthcoming, as was 
also a decanter and a silver casket of cigar- 
ettes. 

They did not seem inclined to talk; silence 
is the privilege of friends. There was some- 
thing soothing in the soft air of the summer 
twilight. 

Before long, however, Langstreth rose to go. 
“Now,” he said, “comes the ennui and etiquette. 
I am dining to-night with twenty men and 
women who care nothing for me and for whom 
I care nothing, and yet we call that sort of 
thing pleasure. But one hour on your piazza 
compensates for all the trials of the other 
twenty-three. Thank you for a charming after- 
noon.” He took Mrs. Flodden-Field’s hand as 
he spoke and bowed low over it. 

“You must thank Viola,” she said. 


200 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“No, I am the grateful one,” Miss Chesinde 
declared smiling. “For Archie has made me 
forgetful of all the pains of the past in the 
pleasures of the present.” 

“That is very pretty, I am sure,” said Mrs. 
Flodden-Field to Langstreth. “What are you 
going to do in return?” 

“I am going to send Miss Chesinde some 
roses,” he replied. 

Viola went out on to the broad piazza with 
him and watched him as he mounted his horse. 
There was a deference in his bearing toward 
her that went to her heart like cold steel. He 
said good-bye smilelessly as he might to a 
sovereign. 

With a subtle sense of clairvoyance she dis- 
cerned that he was going out of her life as com- 
pletely as if one of them were upon a death- 
bed. Then he rode away slowly, and she 
stood there alone with clasped hands. 

The western sky was a lurid blur of clouds — 
crimson and turquoise and gold, and against 
this Langstreth and his horse stood out black 
and clear defined. At his feet lay the glinting 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


201 


sea — opalesque; the world swam in a yellow 
haze. 

With a sigh Miss Chesinde turned away. The 
sunlight had faded; the day was done. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Langstreth went about like the ghost of him- 
self for the next few days. Something seemed 
to be the matter with his heart. He lay awake 
at night and smoked all day and lost interest 
in everything. He heard from the physician 
at Fort Lee that Pussy Le Clare was progress- 
ing favorably, and that an eminent specialist 
had declared that her voice was in no perma- 
nent danger. Then, a little later, he received 
a letter from Pussy herself. 

“I never can thank you enough for all you 
have done for me,” she wrote, “and indeed the 
only thanks I can give you- is to forget you 
altogether. It would be dangerous for you to 
be connected with me in any way at this time. 
The one thing that troubles me is the thought 
of the poor little nameless creature which is 
going to be born to me.” 

“Never mind that,” he wrote in reply. “We 
will see the ‘little creature’ through all right. 
A name isn’t everything. I will give it mine, 
if you like.” 


202 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 203 

That letter from Pussy Le Clare was the one 
bright spot for Langstreth in the days which 
followed Miss Chesinde’s return. He sent 
another cheque to the doctor at Fort Lee and 
instructed him to spare no expense regarding 
the comfort of his patient. He wrote to Mor- 
tayne, also, in Bar Harbor, enclosing a cheque 
for a thousand dollars. “Thank you so much 
for your loan,” he said; “I find that I can return 
it now, as I shall buy neither boots nor bouton- 
nieres.” 

He had sent those roses to Miss Chesinde as 
he had promised, and received a very little 
note in reply to them; at the same time he had 
sent some roses to Pussy Le Clare’s sick-room 
and had had no reply. And all the time he 
felt as if there were something the matter with 
his heart. 

With Miss Chesinde it was almost the same, 
only she had no letter from Pussy Le Clare to 
make those following days seem brighter. 
They seemed dark enough to her, notwith- 
standing the glitter and glamour of the New- 
port season. As the rumor of Guy Clandon’s 
return was circulated, she began to ask herself 


204 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


whether, after all, she had done wisely in sev- 
ering her bonds; but the consciousness of the 
possibility of having acted unwisely made the 
conviction stronger that she had done well. 

As a matter of course Langstreth met Miss 
Chesinde almost every day. He had been 
called upon to take her out to dinner once or 
twice, and he had danced with her at balls, but 
there the obligation had ended. He had even 
gone so far as to invent an excuse when she 
had asked him to accompany her on one of her 
morning rides; and then, the same day, he had 
met her alone, followed by her groom, and she 
had smiled and greeted him cordially, over- 
looking the evident flimsiness of his plea. He 
knew in his heart that he was not behaving 
kindly toward her, but, at the same time, he 
did not quite recognize any reason for being 
kind. He was beginning to reproach himself 
for the decadence of his love; he wondered 
he was quite manly in his treatment of 
her. Of course, he argued, he did not love 
her, but that might, perhaps, be beside the 
question if it were that she loved him. This, 
Mrs. Flodden-Field assured him, was the case, 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 205 

“You have no right to make her suffer,” she 
said. 

“But she made me suffer.” 

“Anybody would suppose you were a Corsi- 
can and had sworn a vendetta. Have you no 
forgiveness, Archie?” 

“Forgiveness! I would have died for her 
once,” he said, “died for her. Or what is 
harder still,” he added, with grim humor, “I 
would have worked for her. But because I 
could not give her those things which she loved, 
— ” he broke off suddenly. He had forgiveh 
her everything, but he could not forget. The 
wound which she had xlealt him had healed, 
but the scar remained. 

Then he decided to forego society. He 
became blase. Everything wearied him. He 
refused all invitations and deserted his clubs. 
He took long rides in the country alone and 
spent his evenings in the seclusion of his 
chambers denying himself to all friends. 

Instead of going to bed he sat up in one of his 
huge easy chairs, smoking innumerable cigar- 
ettes. “Perhaps,” he said to himself, “it is these 
cigarettes that have given me this trouble with 


206 the loyalty of langstreth. 

my heart.” But his pipe made things no better. 

He had not seen Miss Chesinde for several 
days; some man who had intruded himself upon 
him told him that she was looking faded and 
worn, and he felt a momentary anger at being 
called upon for sympathy. 

Nevertheless as he sat there alone, blowing 
blue smoke-rings into the air, Miss Chesinde’s- 
face persistently rose before him. Was her 
smile sad? Were there dark lines beneath her 
eyes? Did her voice sigh his name? 

He knocked the ash from his cigarette and 
got up; he went to the mantelpiece quickly 
and took something from the shelf without 
looking at it. He held it behind his back for 
an instant and then, opening a drawer in his 
writing-table, he pushed it in and turned the 
key. 

He returned to his easy chair and threw him- 
self down among its cushions. A sense of rest 
came over him; a soothing languor filled the 
air; he was no longer alone. There was another 
face over there in the picture frame, which, a 
moment before, he had left empty — a face less 
lovely, perhaps, but not less lovable. It seemed 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 20 7 


to smile upon him with yearning tenderness. 
That other face with its sphynx-like beaut}? 
had vanished, and this warm, living face came 
in its stead. He could never be alone, any 
more. 


He lifted his head from the purple pillow 
and discovered Mortayne at his side. 

“You have been asleep,” said Valentine. “I 
am sorry I waked you. You have even for- 
gotten to smoke.” 

Langstreth stretched himself like a great 
dog, roused suddenly. “I must have lost my- 
self for a moment,” he said, and then he gave 
his hand to his friend. “I am glad to see you 
back. I did not expect you so soon.” 

Mortayne sat down. “You are as pale as a 
ghost,” he said as the light struck Archie’s 
face, disclosing the hollow circles round his 
eyes, fatal indices of sleepless nights. “You 
must stop all these cigarettes, dear boy. I hear 
you are smoking yourself into your grave.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Miss Chesinde.” 

“Oh! — you have seen her.” 


208 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“No. She wrote to me, thanking me for 
some flowers — orchids, which I sent her. By 
the way, Archie, why have you given up patent 
leathers and boutonnieres?” 

“ Because patent leathers hurt my feet and 
the smell of flowers makes me sick.” 

“ It is not the smell of flowers,” said Mor- 
tayne. “ It is society and cigarettes. Your 
life is all palaver and pate de foie gras; a med- 
ley of cotillions and caviare. You dine ninety 
times a month. This sort of thing is killing you.” 

“ My dear Vally,” Langstreth replied as he 
chose a fresh cigarette, “ according to your 
reasoning I should think death would be pref- 
erable to living. I think nobody — I will give 
you the benefit of a doubt — would resign a 
dinner to go to my funeral.” 

“Cynical? Archie; I cannot allow that. I 
came here to-night to be convinced of philan- 
thropies at your hands. You always act upon 
me like a mental tonic — a sort of moral quinine. 
My aunt’s scandals, together with la Rochefou- 
cauld and his school, have upset my ethical 
bases. I need some of your healthy tenets to 
re-establish my belief in mankind.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


209 


“ You see it is wiser to train horses and sail 
cat-boats than to read French philosophers,” 
said Archie. “ But I am not sure, however, 
whether I can help you to a faith in general 
humanity, for I am beginning to lose my belief 
in myself.” 

“Do not let me lose my belief in you, dear 
old fellow,” exclaimed Mortayne, and as he 
spoke his eyes fell upon that letter from Pussy 
Le Clare which was lying on the table with 
the signature exposed. There was a moment 
of silence. “I hope you haven’t anything to 
worry you,” he said, in an altered tone. 

“Now that you have come,” said Archie, 
“nothing.” 

“That is all right, then,” replied Mortayne, 
as he settled himself to his pipe. 

And yet it did not seem all right to him; his 
eyes, half unconsciously, would wander toward 
that open letter, and from that to Langstreth’s 
face. It could not have been said that at that 
moment he doubted his friend, but the seed of 
doubt was sown. His aunt in Bar Harbor had 
tilled the ground for the sowing. She did not 
believe in anything, in man least of all. She 

14 


210 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGST P ETH. 


had smiled incredulously when Mortayne told 
her the story of Pussy Le Clare. She 
said “rubbish!” and looked pityingly at Valen- 
tine through her gold-handled lorgnette, and 
called him a sentimental donkey. But he 
clung tenaciously to the sentiment. He had 
always been a little proud of his love for Lang- 
streth, because he knew that in his world such 
love is looked upon with scorn. He was rich 
enough to defy scorn. 

Still, that story about Pussy Le Clare did 
seem a little far-fetched. Why should a man 
from pure disinterested philanthropy desire 
the well-being of another man’s child? Yet 
Archie had given him his word. “If I were 
that child’s father,” he had said, “I would marry 
Pussy Le Clare to-morrow, even if I were cut by 
everybody I know on the day after. I would 
resign from my clubs — but I should be an 
honest man.” 

It was horrible to Mortayne that he could 
doubt, and yet doubt once having risen in his 
mind he could not crush it down. With a strange 
sequence of ideas he began to think of Miss 
Chesinde. He had thought of her almost 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETII. 21 1 

incessantly of late, and believed that in her 
newly acquired freedom she must likewise 
have had him in her mind. 

Had she not said to him on that day when he 
had gone to her fresh from the punishment of 
the man whose lips had dishonored her name, 
had she not said to him, “you are right to go,” 
and he had left her without question. 

What question could there be? He had 
served her at the risk of his own life, and she 
could give him no reward, being bound by her 
promise to another man. But she said, “ you 
are right to go;” and why right unless she loved 
him? 

At the thought of her love his temples 
throbbed. Throughout his luxurious life he had 
smiled at love, consciencelessly. His loves 
had not been without spot or blemish, and he 
had paid for them with a lavish hand. But 
here was a love which he could not buy. 

“Where is that photograph of Miss Ches- 
inde?” he asked, breaking the long silence. 
“You used to have it in that empty frame.” 

“Is the frame empty?” exclaimed Langstreth 
with a start of surprise, as he remembered the 


212 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


vision of a fair face which had looked at him 
fondly therefrom not long ago. 

Mortayne showed him the vacant glass. 

“Oh!” said Archie a little breathlessly, “I have 
put that picture away. It was not good. I did 
not — like it.” 

“ I am sorry. I wanted to look at it.” 

“You can look at her now,” Langstreth 
replied. “ We do not perfume our rooms with 
pastiles when there are roses growing at our 
window lattice.” 

Mortayne shrugged his shoulders and 
stretched out his legs to their full length. “No; 
but we prick our fingers with the thorns while 
gathering the roses,” he said, indolently, with 
a yawn. “What do you think I am going to 
do?” 

“Going to bed.” 

He laughed. “That, of course, when I have 
finished my pipe. It is something else.” 

But Archie could not guess. He said it 
made his head ache. 

“Well,” said Mortayne, “I am going to ask 
Miss Chesinde to be my wife.” . 

Perhaps, then, if Langstreth had been stand- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 21 3 

ing he would have reeled; everything about 
him seemed to fall away suddenly and then 
become stationary in grotesque positions. His 
hands clenched the arms of his chair so that 
the oak creaked. 

“Have you nothing to say?” asked Mor- 
tayne. He could not see his friend’s face, or it 
would have spoken plainer than all words 
could have done. 

“No, I have nothing to say.” 

“You can wish me good luck, Archie!” He 
paused, abruptly, and leaning over touched 
Langstreth’s arm. “I had sometimes fancied 
there might be something between you — and 
— Miss Chesinde.” 

“There never was anything,” he told him. 

A momentary silence was punctuated by the 
striking of the clock. It was midnight. Mor- 
tayne counted the slow chime. When it was 
still again, he said quietly: “I believe that she 
loves me,” as he made a flight of smoke-rings 
in the air. 

. He believed that she loved him! There seemed 
to be cannonry sounding in Langstreth’s ears. 
Those words stupefied and benumbed him as 


214 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


an explosion might have done. He got upon 
his feet and leaned against the wall; he could 
not quite distinguish things clearly, but he saw 
Mortayne’s face distinctly as he smoked on in 
the calm contemplation of his love. 

Everything seemed to have come to an end. 
His cigarette had gone out; he could not hear 
the ticking of the clock; the lights were dim. 

I am going to bed,” he said, as he held out 
his hand, gropingly. “Finish your smoke. If 
you want anything ring the bell and my serv- 
ant will come — there is whisky and soda 
water there;” he pointed to a small cabinet. 

“Are you ill?” asked Mortayne. 

Archie muttered some half-audible words of 
excuse. “Not ill — tired — a headache.” 

“All right, go to bed then. I shall see 
you at dinner to-morrow at Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne’s. You will be better in the morning.” 

“I hope so. And Vally — ” 

“Ay?” 

“I believe she loves you, too.” 

Then Langstreth went into his bedroom and 
shut the door. 


f 


CHAPTER XVII. 

When Langstreth waked up the next morn- 
ing it was with an indescribable sense of relief 
which he could not explain. He felt as if he 
had been absolved of a confessed sin; there 
was an inexplicable consciousness of regained 
freedom. He ate his breakfast with a palpable 
enjoyment wholly unproportionate to the sim- 
plicity of the repast. Even the usual irksome- 
ness of dressing was reduced to the minimum by 
his general elation, and shaving proved almost 
a source of satisfaction. 

He went about his rooms touching here and 
there an article which he valued, with an anx- 
ious sort of fondness in the action. He rein- 
stated the photograph of Miss Chesinde to the 
dignity of its former position. The whole day 
passed like a dream; the first serious thought 
took possession of him when he realized, at 
seven o’clock, that it was time for him to dress 
himself for dinner at Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s. 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s dinners were very 

215 


216 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


great affairs. They marked epochs. Besides 
terrapin and canvasback and the very latest 
fashionable brand of dry champagne, she always 
delighted the jaded epicureanism of her guests 
with such delicacies as a European nobleman, 
a celebrated beauty, or the newest sensation in 
the professional world. 

The present occasion was intended to be very 
great indeed, owing to the presence of Miss 
Chesinde and the Duke of Bryndulas. Mrs. 
Thorncroft Thorne understood perfectly well 
how to combine the strawberry leaves of 
nobility with the laurels of celebrity. It had 
all been managed easily enough. Dukes dined, 
presumably, every day, even in England; and 
in. Newport, if any duke were so inclined, he 
could dine very sumptuously a score of times 
every day; and the Duke of Bryndulas made 
no difficulty about accepting Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne’s hospitality. It was a few minutes 
after eight when Langstreth entered the great 
gilded drawing-room where Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne, splendid in amber and gold, was re- 
ceiving her guests with Evelyn at her side. 
She welcomed Archie very cordially, notwith- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 21 7 

standing the fact of his being a wolf in the very 
precincts of the sheepfold. 

“Ah!” she said, shaking her head so that all 
her jewels flashed, “you are a renegade. You 
have deserted us lately. Have you retired to 
a monastery? Terhaps you are playing Abel- 
ard, but where is Heloise?” She let one of 
her soft, well-modulated laughs break from her 
and rested her fan of amber-colored plumes 
against his arm. “You are to take Mrs. Flod- 
den-Field in to dinner,” she added with a sigh. 
“I wanted you myself, but, you know, les 
bicnseances!” 

New arrivals claimed her attention at that 
instant and she swept away toward the door. 

He became aware that he was standing near 
Miss Chesinde and that she was holding out 
her hand. She carried a mass of white jesmine 
tied together with violet ribbons, and she began 
to break off some of the fullest sprays. “Stoop 
down, Archie,” she said; “how tall you are. 
Let me fasten these in your button-hole. You 
* make pigmies of other men.” 

While he bent over her she let her eyes wan- 
der to his face. His head came very near her 


218 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


own; one of the short crisp waves of his hair 
almost touched her ear. She could hear his 
even breathing. 

It did not take long. The stems slipped 
through the button-hole and a pin made the 
flowers secure. “There!” she said, as she gave 
him his liberty again. 

He thanked her simply. 

Then the door opened and the butler an- 
nounced, “Mr. Valentine Mortayne.” 

“Oh! he has come,” said Viola, without much 
surprise; and Langstreth answered: “Yes, he 
has come.” 

In another minute Mortayne had made his 
way to Miss Chesinde’s side. Archie watched 
their meeting. There was an easy familiarity 
in their manner which proclaimed an existing 
friendship. Paris at once became the topic of 
their conversation and Langstreth, thus being 
debarred, turned in search of Mrs. Flodden- 
Field. 

As soon as he saw her, a little flush of 
memory swept over him, the memory of a 
tender smile from an empty picture frame. 
“Oh! how pretty you look,” he exclaimed 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 219 

heartily; “you do not mind my telling you.” 

“I am glad,” she said. “Indeed I thought of 
you when I chose my gown.” 

“It is lovely,” he told her. “It is my favorite 
color.” 

Then dinner was announced and he gave her 
his arm. 

“I hope you are hungry,” he said, crossing 
the oak-paneled hall, which was dim with the 
shadows of Florentine lamps. 

“Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne makes dining not 
an art, but a virtue,” she replied. “Gastronomy 
is her religion and her chef is her prophet.” 

The room which they entered was magnifi- 
cent. The table was a field of shed rose-leaves. 
Through a jungle of exotics came the rhythm 
of a Spanish waltz. The light was aplanatic. 

Miss Chesinde sat next to Mortayne, and 
was ready of wit and lavish of smiles. With 
the champagne the duke became anecdotal and 
with silent self-congratulation Mrs. Thorncroft 
Thorne discovered that even Evelyn was for- 
getting to snub Regy Dynevor. 

As for the rest they were affinities — Bertie 
Girande, who was said to lead cotilliofis a prix 


220 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


fixe , and Mrs. Tommy Clytheroe, whose name 
was Geraldine, but who was known to all club- 
dom as “Jerry/’ because her husband was 
called “Hot Tom;” on the other side Miss 
Ortheris, about whom scandal was rife, and 
Alec Nevill; farther along sat Mrs. Vincent 
St. Paul, who had divorced three husbands to 
increase her dowry of diamonds, and whom a 
Russian nobleman was trying to persuade into 
another matrimonial venture; and at the end of 
the table, where a fresh breeze came in laden 
with the scent of the sea and the strains of the 
melody, Mrs. Flodden-Field and Langstreth. 

The occasion was undeniably great. The 
menu was perfect, the wines were beyond crit- 
icism. There were jeweled glasses and a des- 
sert service of solid gold enameled with the 
family coat-of-arms. 

Later, in the drawing-room, when the men 
had entered, Miss Chesinde was asked to sing. 

Her mood had changed suddenly. “I 
thought I was asked to dine, not to sing,” she 
said a little disagreeably. However, she turned 
to Langstreth and bade him come to her. 
“Will you turn my music?” she asked. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


221 


They went to the piano and she sat down. 
“Do you remember the old songs, Archie, 
which we used to sing together?” 

“Oh! yes, I remember them.” 

“It seems so long ago.” 

“It is long ago.” 

“Well, which shall I sing?” 

“Have you no new ones?” 

A pained look killed her smile. Her lips 
became dry and she wet them with the tip of 
her tongue. 

“Yes, I have some new ones.” 

“Then why not sing one of those, Miss Ches- 
inde?” he replied. 

She lifted her hand imperiously. “Archie,” 
she said, “I will not have you call me that; 
it hurts me. If you do not wish to speak to 
me, perhaps, then — you might be right. But 
you can not be right in this — to make me 
.suffer.” 

“I do not wish to make you suffer.” 

“Then call me by one of the old names.” 

“They are waiting for your song,” he said 
helplessly. 

“Let them wait. Do you suppose I care? I 


222 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


did not come here to sing to them, I came to 
sing to you.” 

“And I have asked you for a new song.” 

“Very well,” she exclaimed, desperately, 
“you shall have what you want — anything.” 

He would have stopped her then; something 
in her eyes as her lids fell gave him a sense of 
pain. But already her fingers were upon the 
keys, and her lips parted in the song. 

“We will forget — Ah, yes, forget at last, 

Though hearts be sad and eyes with tear-drops wet; 
The sunshine and the shadows of the past, 

We will forget. 

“Our happy hours together were too fleet; 

Your words of love that stir me strangely yet, 

The clinging arms, the kisses, tender, sweet, 

We will forget. 

“In future years must the day dawn at last, 

When we will meet as e’er we loved we met; 

When, lost in Lethe's wave, the happy past 
We will forget? 

“And yet, Oh, heart of mine, that throbs amiss 
With all this weight of sorrow and regret, 

All earth — all heaven, is changed because of this — 
We will forget.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


223 


“Do you like it?” she asked, during the mur- 
mured applause. 

“Better than the old songs,” he said. 

“You used to like them, Archie.” 

“Yes; I know — ” 

She rose and stood at his side; while she 
stood there for one brief moment she touched 
him. He felt the warmth of her nearness; her 
arm against his arm, her hand against his hand. 
His eyes fell upon the perfection of her beauty; 
the fresh aroma of her hair came up to his 
nostrils. His fingers spread themselves out to 
clasp her hand, but as they closed she moved 
away, and his hand shut upon itself like the 
door of an empty room. 

She did not go far — scarcely beyond the 
length of an arm; but that distance separated 
them as wide as pole from pole. 

“Archie,” she said, bridging the parallax with 
one of her wonderful smiles, “I have some- 
thing to say to you. Come on to the ver- 
anda.” 

Verandas played important parts in Mrs. 
Thorncroft Thorne’s programmes. She always 
had them arranged with delightful divans in 


224 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


screened corners; there were little tables with 
cigarettes and liqueurs, and the light was 
sifted through rose-colored gourds. 

“This is far enough,” said Langstreth, when 
they reached a secluded nook beyond sight or 
\ sound of the drawing-room. 

“Are you afraid of compromising me?” asked 
Miss Chesinde, laughing. 

“No — of compromising myself.” 

She ensconced herself upon a low ottoman, 
among a bank of pillows. The erubescence of 
the lanterns changed her white draperies into 
billows of rose capped with lurid gold. She 
had drawn off her long gloves and the dia- 
monds upon her hands glowed like rubies. The 
atmosphere was a damask haze. 

“Smoke,” she commanded. 

He took a cigarette and sat down — not very 
near, nor yet very far from her. “Well, what 
is it you have to say to me?” 

“Suppose,” she said, “that I should tell you 
that I loved you, Archie; what would you do?” 

‘T should not believe it, for one thing.” 

She shrugged her shoulders; when she 
moved, a vague perfume radiated from her. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 225 

“Suppose, then, that I should say that, I am 
going to marry you?” 

“I should not believe that, either, because 
you are going to marry Mortayne.” 

She raised her heavy lids as if the smoke of 
his cigarette had entered her eyes. She 
pushed herself more luxuriously among her 
crimson cushions and lifted her bare arms 
behind her head. 

“And who says so?” she asked. 

“Mortayne!” 

“Ah! And I?” 

“Have you not said so, too? Oh! I do not 
mean in words. Women speak in other 
ways.” 

“You, at least, speak in riddles,” she said. 
Her eyelids had drooped again; her lips were 
parted in a dreamy smile. “Come here, Archie, 
— nearer to me, where I can touch you with 
my hand, so — Now tell me what you mean.” 

“You know what I mean, Miss Chesinde.” 

“Tell me.” 

“The truth?” 

“You never lie,” she said. 

A moment of silence enhanced their seclu- 

15 


226 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


sion. No sound reached them except the mid- 
night rustle of the drowsy trees. 

“Then,” said Langstreth slowly, “did you 
not tell Mortayne that you would marry him 
on that day when you bade him leave you in 
Paris, and immediately break your engagement 
to Clandon?” 

“I could have told him of my hate in no 
other way,” she declared. “Your argument is 
not so Herculean as your imagination.” 

“If yoihhad hated him you would have let 
him stay — and you would not have broken your 
promise.” 

“Oh, Archie!” 

“ Well,” he asked, “do you hate him?” 

“Hate him? No!” 

“You see!” 

“But that is not saying that I love him?” 

“I have said nothing of love. I am speaking 
of marriage.” 

MissChesinde sat up suddenly; some of her 
pillows fell to the ground, but they were un- 
noticed. She extended her palm, open to the 
man at her side. “Do you believe that I broke 




THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 22J 

my promise to Clandon in order to marry Val- 
entine Mortayne?” 

“Yes,” he said, and paused. 

Did hebelieve that? He had almost believed 
of late that his own treatment of Miss Chesinde 
was unkind and ungenerous; he had almost 
questioned the decadence of his love; but 
whatever he might think of his own case, he 
knew positively of Mortayne’s passion; and he 
felt that he owed something to his friend. 

“Yes,” he repeated, quietly, “I believe that 
you will marry Mortayne.” 

“That I came home with the intention of 
marrying him?” 

“Yes — that! 

She threw herself back among her disordered 
cushions, and said, with a low, joyless laugh: 

“I wonder what you will believe next.” 

“Perhaps — that you love him.” 

“Women do not marry the men they love,” 
she said. “It may be that I shall love — you.” 

“Then your love will be in vain.” 

She smiled voluptuously. “Oh! you — say — 
that — now — ” There were little soft sighs be- 
tween her words. “You say — that— now — be- 


228 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

cause I am unmarried — and — you — like to sim- 
ilate — a conscience. But when I am his wife — ” 

A look of pain scarred Langstreth’s face. 

“He is my friend,” he said. 

“He can not be your friend,” she told him, 
“if he is my husband.” 

“His wife will be my friend.” 

“Not if I am that wife, Archie. Listen!” 
She stretched herself almost at full length on 
the couch. “Listen,” she said again, in a voice 
which was heavy with sweetness. “You and I 
have been lovers always; we shall love each 
other to the end.” 

“I love him.” 

She smiled vaguely. “You love me. Do 
you suppose I do not see it in your eyes? Oh! 
I know.” She leaned over and took hold of his 
hand; the tips of her fingers crept about his 
outspread palm, thrilling him. A mist seemed 
to rise making the atmosphere dense and warm, 
a subtle perfume issued out upon the air. He 
felt numb; with a half suppressed cry he 
sprang to his feet. Miss Chesinde’s hand fell 
back from his and clasped itself with her own; 
at the same instant Mortayne appeared. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


229 


“ I have been looking for you everywhere,” 
he said; “at least, everywhere but here. Do 
you think you are treating us fairly? They are 
clamoring for you to amuse them.” 

“We are not even amusing ourselves,” said 
Miss Chesinde, indolently. “Mr. Langstreth is 
an advocate of social gymnastics. He has been 
trying to convince me that wives should love 
their husbands.” 

Mortayne laughed. “Inside,” he said, “in the 
drawing-room, they are trying to convince each 
other that wives should love some one else’s 
husband. It is an easier task. Oh! are you 
going away, Archie?” 

Langstreth had moved somewhat apart and 
was standing in a shadow. “I am going to talk 
to Mrs. Flodden-Field,” he said. 

“ More society athletics ? ” asked Miss Ches- 
inde. 

“ No — aesthetics,” he told her, as he waved 
them a farewell with his hand. 

When his footsteps had died away round the 
corner of the piazza, Mortayne took his seat at 
Miss Chesinde’s side. 

“May I smoke?” he asked. 


23O THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

She raised her fine brows. “You ask me 
that? Do you not remember that I read books 
by M. Catulle Mendes and go to see risque 
French comedies?” 

“I wish you would not talk of those things.” 

“Oh! ” she exclaimed with petulance. “ You 
are always thinking of les convenances. What 
shall we talk of, then?’ 

“Of love.” 

If those words gave her any surprise she did 
not show it; perhaps a deeper color flushed 
her cheek, a fuller violet filled her eyes. 

“Miss Chesinde,” he said, “I love you. I 
think you have known that a long time, and 
you have been very kind. You did the kindest 
thing a woman can do when you bade me leave 
you. I had not, then, the right to ask you for 
your love, and you did not wish to listen to the 
avowal of mine. But, now I have the right to 
speak. I have never asked any woman to be — 
my wife; will you be that to me?” 

He spoke slowly, and although they were 
alone, with nothing but a stretch of sea and 
shore about them, he made no movement to 
touch her hand. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 23 1 

She did not speak at once; a hundred mem- 
ories crowded her brain as the wind does a 
reefless sail; the scent of roses mingled with 
the salt-laden air of the sea; the sighing of the 
breeze through a somber London square; the 
vision of the gay little Duchesse de Vent-Fort; 
the rhythm of the Hungarian waltz; a beautiful 
oriental woman arrayed violet d’argent; a few 
words whispered by the Marquis de Brie; and 
circling through and between and around these, 
the pale, passionless face of the man at her side. 

Mortayne, misinterpreting her silence, went 
on: “I know, Miss Chesinde,” he said, “that 
you are a woman of the world. You have 
weighed the price of one man’s love and found 
it wanting. You are the most beautiful woman 
I have ever seen, and I have seen many beauti- 
ful women. Women sell themselves as dearly 
as they can; it is their privilege.” He paused, 
watching her intently, with a manner earnest 
but not eager. “I can offer as much, perhaps, 
as any man in the world.” 

“You should not judge me like that, Mr. 
Mortayne. At least you should not misjudge 
yourself.” 


232 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“I am not judging you. I am only using the 
right of every man to advance his title to' re- 
gard.” 

“Is not love enough?” 

“If there is enough love.” 

“Love is all, or nothing,” said Miss Chesinde, 
a little bitterly, remembering her own love. 
She knew in her heart at that moment that she 
should marry Mortayne; it seemed as if she 
had known it always. Her fair face became 
touched with a glow of color like a pearl held 
in sunset light. The old opulent luxury of her 
nature returned to her. She had delighted to 
contemplate the vista of her future and the 
vastness of her wealth as Clandon’s wife, and 
now, at her side, was a man who could quad- 
ruple that wealth and lay it at her feet. 

Mortayne, waiting for her reply, turned his 
face into the darkness and caught the cool 
breath of the breeze as it came up over the 
water. He was perfectly honest to her and to 
himself. He had asked her to be his wife, 
designing to possess her wholly. He paid for 
love as he paid for other luxuries. Marriage 
was the only price he could offer to Miss Ches- 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


233 


inde, and he offered it very much as he had 
written a cheque, once, for a fabulous sum to 
acquire a jewel. He waited for her decision as 
a prisoner in the dock waits for the return of 
the jury. 

She had said that love must be all — or 
nothing. She confronted him with a swift 
movement and held out her hands to him. 

“I will marry you,” she said, simply. 

He enfolded her in his arms but she forbade 
him the rapture of her lips. 

When, a few minutes later, they went back 
into the brilliance of the drawing-room, some 
of the guests were preparing for departure. 

Mrs. Flodden-Field was standing beneath 
the crystal chandelier talking to Langstreth, 
when Miss Chesinde joined them. 

“I have something to tell you,” she said, 
softly. “I am engaged to marry Mr. Mor- 
tayne.” She gave a hand to each of them, 
with gay enthusiasm; her manner was full of 
ease and grace, and her smile was wonderful 
to see. Then, with a little, low, rippling laugh 
she turned and left them. 

If they had been upon an island in the sea, 


234 THE loyalty of langstreth. 

on an oasis in the desert, beyond all human 
sound or reach, those two could not have been 
more utterly alone than in that one supreme 
moment. 

What was the blaze of the myriad lights, the 
mad reel of the waltz, the murmur of conver- 
sation, to them? Nothing. 

They were alone. 

Then their eyes met, mingled and swept the 
future together, and they could never be alone 
again. 

“Oh! Archie.” 

“Mary!” He had never spoken her name 
before. “Mary, you understand.” 

Then, too, for one brief instant their hands 
clasped and clung. 

A minute more separated them. But did 
they not understand? 

To the man it was ineffably sweet and the 
sweetness was all joy; but to the woman that 
great joy was likewise a great pain. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


The next morning Langstreth rode over to 
Aidenn. The gates were shut, but when one of 
the gardeners recognized him he let him in; at 
the house, however, he was refused admittance. 

“Mrs. Flodden-Field is receiving no one,” 
the footman told him. “I was to give you this 
note if you called, sir.” 

Langstreth took the envelope from the 
servant. It exhaled a faint orris. The crest, 
with its’ motto A /’ Abri wrought in silver, met 
his eyes. 

“Mrs. Flodden-Field bade me ask, sir,” con- 
tinued the footman, “would you have a glass 
of sherry and a biscuit, sir?” 

But Archie felt that he could neither eat nor 
drink. He knew that something had hap- 
pened and almost for the first time in his 
life his hand trembled as he broke the seal. 

It was a short letter, scarcely covering a 
page, and at first a mist in his eyes prevented 
his seeing distinctly. It was dated the evening 

235 


236 THE LOYALTY OF LANGS*TRETH. 

before and he knew that it must have been 
written within an hour of their parting. 

“My dearest,” it said, “before I go to sleep 
to-night I have something to say to you. It is 
this — you must go away. 

“I love you; words can say no more. Some 
time, when I have steeled my heart a little, 
when I am stronger, I may be able to see you 
again. I am too weak to bid you stay, loving 
you. God grant you strength to go. 

“When I can bear it, dearest, I will send for 
you and you will come to me.” 

There was nothing else, except the name 
“Mary” written below. 

“Here is the sherry, sir.” 

Whether he had staggered Langstreth did 
not know. The man-servant was facing him 
smilelessly and held out a glass of wine. 

“Thank you,” said Archie; “here is my card. 
Will you give it to Mrs. Flodden-Field?” 

Then he called for his horse and rode slowly 
down the drive toward the sea. 

Yes, he would go away, to the ends of the 
world, across seas. His love was strong enough 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 2 37 

far that. It was stronger than death and it 
needed to be, for this was harder than death; 
to go away in the first knowledge of his love. 
But he would go. 

At the club that evening when Miss Ches- 
inde’s engagement was run from lip to lip, some 
one asked what would become of Langstreth. 

“He has gone away,” declared Bertie Girande, 
who originated a scandal as cleverly as he con- 
ducted a cotillion. “Val Mortayne is rich 
enough to buy even Langstreth’s loyalty. He 
has gone to Java, or Japan, or somewhere, for 
shooting.” 

That same evening, later on, at a ball given 
in honor of a foreign potentate, Regy Dynevor 
told Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne of Langstreth’s 
departure. 

“Shooting!” she repeated, scornfully. “What 
nonsense. People don’t shoot in Japan and 
Java; they drink tea and coffee.” 

Evelyn Thorne grew pale when she heard 
that Langstreth had gone. She danced one 
waltz and then sat down. Everything began to 
reel. “I think I must go home,” she said to 
her mother. “I am — ill.” 


238 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne reluctantly took her 
away. “ I don’t believe you are ill at all,” she 
told her, unpityingly. “ It is all on account of 
Archie Langstreth. I wish he were in Jerusa- 
lem!” 

Evelyn forbore to remark that both Japan 
and Java were equally distant. 

“Besides,” went on Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne, 
warming to the regret of her lost supper, “if 
Regy Dynevor gets it into his head that you 
are in love with Langstreth — ” 

“Mamma!” 

“Yes, indeed,” she said, grandiloquently. 
“You’ll have to play your cards very differently 
if you want to catch Regy.” 

“Catch him!” repeated Evelyn. She sat up 
erect in the carriage, and the street-lamps 
as they flashed by showed her face flushed 
with anger and shame. “Catch him! I would 
not marry him for anything. I would starve 
first.” 

“Do you dare to tell me you will refuse him ?” 

“I shall not refuse him, mamma, because 
I shall not permit him to ask anything of me. 
I have thought about this a long time. It is 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


239 


bad enough to think of marrying a man you 
do not love, but to think of marrying a man 
you despise is the devil.” 

“Evelyn!” 

“Yes,” she said with triumph, “the devil.” 

“I will not have you say such things to me,” 
cried her mother. “It is disgusting.” 

“It is not so disgusting as for you to wish me 
to marry Mr. Dynevor. That is disgusting.” 

“I am sure,” said Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne 
with as much dignity as the roiling of the car- 
riage would allow, “ I am sure I do not under- 
stand you. Disgusting! He is one of the big- 
gest catches in New York.” 

“ He is one of the biggest fools,” said Eve- 
lyn. “ I am sick of the whole business. Why 
don’t you marry him yourself and be done with 
it?” 

Then Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s patience broke 
down altogether. She forgot all the beatitudes 
and every word of the xm, chapter of St. 
Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians, and called 
Evelyn hard names. “ I really believe you 
want to marry Langstreth,” she finished furi- 
ously. 


240 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“ I don’t want to marry anybody,” declared 

velyn, “and I won’t be bullied.” 

“ Bullied !” Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne thought 
she should faint at the word. She told her that 
if she did not choose to' marry Regy she could 
go to — to Westchester and live with her grand- 
mother. Westchester was another word for 
perdition in Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne’s vocabu- 
lary. 

“Well, I don’t choose,” said Evelyn as the 
carriage turned in at the great stone gates; 
“and all I can say is that it makes a girl want 
to be a man.” 

There was nothing more said on the subject 
then, but Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne felt that she 
had been guilty of bringing an abnormal being 
into the world — a girl who had refused to 
ally herself with a man who was worth millions, 
for the trifling reason that she did not love 
him. 

Miss Chesinde’s engagement was a nine 
days’ wonder. Everybody declared that she 
was the cleverest woman of her time and there 
was great clamoring to inspect the jewels which 
Mortayne showered upon her. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


241 


She received everything as she received his 
kisses — smilelessly* but without reluctance. 

“Oh! ” he exclaimed one day. “If I could 
only make you love me.” 

“Love,” she replied, “grows like a flower. 
Be content to be the gardener.” 

Then one day she said to Mrs. Flodden- 
Field, “I have decided to be married in a 
month.” 

“Is not that very soon?” 

“Soon? Ask Mr. Mortayne,” she replied. 
“He will tell you it is an age — an aeon.” 

It was about this time that she received a 
letter from Mrs. Clandon who was at Ham- 
burg. 

“My dear Viola,” she wrote. “When I heard 
your good news I was not at all surprised. 
You will acknowledge that I did not blame or 
question you when you broke your engagement 
with Guy. I think, even then, I foresaw this. 
You will have the satisfaction of knowing that 
you made your own happiness. There is noth- 
ing I can do for you now, except to give you 
your trousseau. You will be one of the richest 

women in the world. Please remember me 
16 


242 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

to Mr. Mortayne; and believe me, that I wish 
you every joy.” 

Miss Chesinde gave the rumpled pages to 
Mrs. Flodden-Field. “Aunt Edith is so naive,” 
she said. “She believes that I broke with Guy 
simply to marry Mr. Mortayne.” 

Mrs. Flodden-Field made no response. 

“And what do you believe?” asked Viola. 
“Oh! I?” 

“Yes; do you think that when I came home I 
had made up my mind to marry him?” 

“I have always believed that you — loved — 
Archie Langstreth.” 

“Love — love — ” she exclaimed. “There is 
no such thing as love! A man because he is 
strong and a woman because she is fair — ” 

“Do you not love Valentine Mortayne?” 

“I have not thought of love,” replied Miss 
Chesinde slowly. “There is a beautiful 
woman in Paris whose name is Leonie Barras. 
She is a Tunisienne. Her face is as pure as a 
saint’s dream. Once, when Valentine Mor- 
tayne was traveling, he saw her. She was six- 
teen then — a child. He told her a pretty story 
of love in the moonlight of the tropic night. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


243 


Then he strung her neck with precious stones 
and twined her hair with pearls.” She paused, 
turning more fully toward her hostess. The 
wind caught a loose lock of her hair and trailed 
it like gold threads across her forehead. Then 
she went on: 

“To me, also, he told that little story of love; 
only to me he offered marriage, because my 
virtue put me beyond the reach of pearls and 
precious stones.” 

“Oh! Viola, do not say such things. Mar- 
riage is the one gift a man can offer to a 
woman he loves.” 

Miss Chesinde smiled with pitying incredul- 
ity. “My dear friend,” she said slowly, “mar- 
riage is the price of virtue and love is its fran- 
chise — that is all.” 

From that day Mrs. Flodden-Field eschewed 
the subject; she smarted under the cold cyni- 
cism of Viola’s words. She performed her 
duties as hostess with untiring kindness albeit 
with a heavy heart. She welcomed Valentine 
Mortayne to her house and undertook the 
entire responsibility of the wedding prepara- 


244 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


tions, insisting that the marriage should take 
place at Aidenn. 

Mortayne fulfilled every requirement of a 
lover, and everybody declared that Miss Ches- 
inde was a very lucky woman. For her own 
part she bore herself with dignity and grace, 
receiving the flatteries and adulation of her 
world very much as she accepted the splendid 
jewels which, from time to time, Mortayne 
showered upon her, as if they were hers by 
right and beyond question. 

If, at any time, her heart was heavy, the 
world, in general, did not know it. She went 
through the pageant of the season gaily, lavish 
of her smiles, and charmed all who met her by 
her beauty and brilliance. 

A halo of grandeur environed her; the pros- 
pect of her splendid future stretched before 
her in golden rays. She embellished her rev- 
eries with imperial magnificence. The luxury 
of her presence increased, and she enchained 
her lover by the wealth and regality of her 
loveliness. 

Only once her elation forsook her. Arrayed 
in the spotless splendor of her wedding robes, 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 245 


crowned with diamonds, she was contemplating 
her glittering reflection, when a velvet case was 
brought to her. Within, upon a white cushion, 
lay a wonderful spray of roses, wrought in 
brilliants and enameled leaves. A mist gath- 
ered before her eyes, and, as she closed the 
case gently, a little sigh troubled the perfection 
of her lips. 

“Oh, Viola! how beautiful you are,” cried 
Mrs. Flodden-Field as she entered the room. 

Miss Chesinde suddenly grew pale; there 
seemed to be the scent of roses in the air. 

She turned to her friend quickly and discov- 
ered that she carried a mass of roses in her 
hand, and that there were roses nestling at her 
breast. 

“What lovely — flowers,” she said, with a little 
catching of her breath. “How — sweet — they 
are.” 

“They are very sweet to me,” replied Mary 
Flodden-Field in a happy whisper. “They 
were sent to me to-day by Archie Langstreth. 
Are you ready? It is time. How white you 
are, Viola.” 

“Yes, I am ready. Brides are always pale; 


246 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

it is their title of purity,” said Miss Chesinde. 

She gathered up the snowy orchids which 
her lover had sent her, and within an hour she 
was Valentine Mortayne’s wife. 










CHAPTER XIX. 

The summer died; autumn came and went, 
and on the last day of the year Langstreth 
found himself back in New York again. The 
paving-stones, the rumbling trucks, the tangle 
of the electric lights were all pleasant to him. 
For months he had lived in silence. 

He went about his rooms with the glad free- 
dom of a released prisoner; every object 
seemed doubly dear to him. Upon his writing 
table stood a great jar of roses; a pile of un- 
opened letters lay beneath a paper weight. He 
had given his address to no one, except to one 
woman; all the world beside was nothing to 
him. 

But one letter, which he touched fondly, 
which he even raised to his lips now and then, 
was open and its pages gave evidence of much 
reading. It had come to him in the heart of 
the Canadian forest, where his guide was his 
only companion, and he had gone out a long 
way from their hut and read it alone for the 


248 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

first time, beneath the snow-capped pines. He 
had read it again and again, a hundred times, 
and even when every word was graven on his 
memory. Standing at home among the other 
objects which he knew so well, his eyes caressed 
the written words: 

“Come to me, dearest,” the letter said. 
“Come when the New Year comes. God in His 
great wisdom has taken my husband from me. 
After a life-long sorrow, of which you know, 
peace has been granted me. It is too soon to 
talk of love, dear; but come to me. What 
reparation lay in his power my husband has 
made; he has left me his fortune unprovision- 
ally. I told him my secret, Archie, and he 
left a message for you. But it is a message 
which only my own lips can give.” 

That was all. 

“Come to me.” 

Go to her. 

The great waste of snowy forest seemed 
transformed into a garden of the tropics, sen- 
suous with the scent of the Indes. “Come to 
me.” Oh, God! how sweet those words 
sounded. 






■ 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 249 

He had gone, speedily. Already the year 
was old and grey. And now, he had come, he 
was near her — within a little distance of that 
fair woman whom he loved. 

He threw himself down upon a low couch 
and covered his face whh his hands, remem- 
bering those things, his weary waiting and his 
present joy. The flicker of the fire reached 
his eyes through the crevices between his fin- 
gers. The subtle perfume of roses pervaded 
the air. Who had put those roses there? Only 
one person in the world — one woman, knew 
that he would be at home. She knew because 
she had said, “Come.” 

A strange presentiment of gladness rushed 
over him. In a curious way it seemed that life 
was at an end, and yet he knew that, in truth, 
life was just beginning. 

To-morrow would be the new year, the be- 
ginning of a new life; the beginning of that 
love which would be life to him. 

He got up and fastened a rose in his button- 
hole. Some loosened leaves fluttered softly to 
the floor, and he chose his steps carefully, as if 
from fear of crushing them. He took a book from 


250 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

one of his cases; but' when he came to a love 
scene he tossed it away with a laugh. Love! 
As if words could express it! His own love 
was as deep as the sea — as strong, as vast; and 
yet he had spoken no word. 

He smoked a cigarette, and then another; 
but they left him unsatisfied. At last he 
bethought himself of his club. 

“I will go and hunt up Vally,” he said to 
himself, “and we will drink to the health of 
the new year.” 

He went out, accordingly, and the cold night 
air seemed like champagne. He walked on 
with joy in his heart. A few flakes of light 
snow were falling, and he turned up the collar 
of his overcoat. He did not count the blocks or 
notice the street crossings, until he became 
aware, suddenly, that some one was speaking 
to him — had, indeed, spoken twice; and then 
he saw a hand held out to him. 

“Langstreth, I am glad to see you.” 

It was Guy Clandon, looking almost hand- 
some in a huge fur coat. 

For an instant Langstreth’s old repugnance 
for this man came over him. He felt that the 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


251 


gladness at the meeting, if there were any, was 
all on one side. Nevertheless, something in 
Clandon’s manner, and his own charity of heart, 
prompted him to extend his hand in return. 

“So you are back again,” he said, noting the 
change that had come over Clandon. His 
eyes had lost their blurred look of dissipation, 
and there was a faint glow of returning health 
in his face. 

“Yes, I have turned up again. You know 
the proverb of the bad penny. I have just been 
into the club, but I did not stay long; the fact 
is — ” he paused with a flush of embarrassment, 
“I was looking for you.” 

“For me?” 

“ I want to ask you to do me a favor.” 

Langstreth had hardly brought himself to 
that state of charity in regard to all his neigh- 
bors in which to grant a favor to a man whom 
he despised; but the change in Clandon’s man- 
ner disarmed him for a moment and he said 
something about being glad to help him if pos- 
sible. 

Guy looked up at the splashes of light which 
glared from the club windows. “ Well.” he 


252 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


said a little desperately, as a man plunges into 
cold water, “ I want you to be my boy’s god- 
father, and let him bear your name. I married 
Pussy Le Clare yesterday — it is never too late 
to mend, they say. She has told me of all your 
kindness to her. The baby was born this morn- 
ing; he is a jolly little chap, and I’ll make him 
worthy of your name if his life and mine are 
spared.” 

There was a moment of silence as the two 
men stood there together with clasped hands. 
Langstreth was the first to speak and his voice 
was not as steady as usual when he told Clan- 
don he would be his boy’s godfather, and sent 
messages to his wife. “ You are an honest 
man, Guy,” he said, “ and I am proud to have 
my name borne by a son of yours.” 

In another minute they separated, and 
Archie’s kindly heart was full of a new joy. 
In truth the old year, with its dead sorrows, 
was over. The snow was falling softly, cover- 
ing all its irregularities as with a shroud. 

He turned into the club, and at the door 
Regy Dynevor met him. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 253 

“ Hullo!” he exclaimed in a shrill voice 
“ How do you do? and good-bye.” 

“ How are you,” said Langstreth. “ You are 
just going out?” 

Dynevor was being helped into his overcoat 
and was much troubled concerning the fate of 
the gardenia he wore. “ Mind my flower,” he 
cried to the servant, and added: “Clumsy 
devil.” 

“Well, I’ll see you again,” said Langstreth, 
passing on. 

“Ultimately, perhaps,” replied Regy. “I'm 
off to-morrow.” 

“Oh! far? For long?” 

“Sail for Havre to-morrow. Cannes this win- 
ter. Jolly little villa. Mrs. Thorney Thorne.” 
Then he laughed fatuously. 

“I wish you good luck. Please remember 
me to Mrs. Thorncroft Thorne and to Miss 
Thorne.” 

“Oh! I say,” sneered Regy, insolently. 

“Say it, then.” Langstreth faced him sharply 
with a severer question in his eyes than in his 
tone. 

“As if you did not know!” 


254 THE loyalty of langstreth. 

“What?” 

“About Evelyn Thorne.” 

“I know nothing. I have been away for 
months,” said Archie, feeling that he was de- 
meaning himself by so much as talking to 
Dynevor. “Is Miss Thorne — dead?” 

“Dead? No,” he replied. “She has entered 
the noviciate and is going to take complete 
vows. Well, ta-ta!” The door closed and 
Langstreth heard his insolent laugh again. 

He went up the stairs, giving a pleasant 
word to some of the servants whom he met, 
and made his way into the reading-room. Here 
he found Mortayne. He was sitting alone in a 
corner with a cigar between his teeth and his 
feet on a chair in front of him. 

He did not get up as Langstreth approached 
him and Archie noticed a certain change which 
had come in his face, as subtle as it was inex- 
plicable. They shook hands and Mortayne 
rang the bell and asked Langstreth what he 
would drink. 

“And how is Canada?” he demanded. 

“Oh,” said Archie, as he sat down, “Canada 
is well enough, but New York is better.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 255 


Something in his voice drew Mortayne’s eyes 
to his friend’s face, and a faint pang smote him 
as he remembered the old days. 

“You look as happy as — as — ” 

“I am happy,” said Archie. 

“Woman, eh?” asked Mortayne. “It is 
always a woman.” 

“Yes, it is a woman.” Then he was silent as 
if to bring the subject to a close. 

“Never mind,” said Mortayne, indolently. 
“Perhaps, some day you will tell me.” 

“Perhaps, some day, I shall, Vally.” 

Then the waiter returned bringing their 
drinks. Mortayne murmured something about 
good luck for the coming year, and drained his 
glass. “I must be moving,” he exclaimed after 
a moment. “I am going to eat supper with 
Viola.” 

“How is Mrs. Mortayne?” 

Valentine shrugged his shoulders. “ I have 
not laid eyes on her for two days,” he said. 
“She has innumerable engagements. Every 
man in New York sees more of her than I do.” 
Then he laughed: “And I see more of every 
other woman.” 


256 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

His tone and words made Langstreth shud- 
der. “I shall call upon your wife, at once.” he 
said. “When will she be at home?” 

“ I think she will be at home whenever you 
come,” replied Mortayne, “ if you will let her 
know that you are coming.” He got up from 
his chair and stood with his back to the fire. 
“Come to supper, now,” he added. “Viola will 
be delighted to see you. She has been dining 
at the Van-Hoffman’s.” 

Archie hesitated for an instant. “ Thanks,” 
he said; “all right, I’ll go.” 

They went down stairs and were helped into 
their fur coats. Mortayne lighted afresh cigar. 
“ I always walk home, nowadays,” he said, as 
they went out. “ It helps to clear my brain. 
One gets so fuddled living with a woman.” 

To this, Langstreth did not reply. The 
night was perfectly clear and frosty. The 
snow had stopped falling and lay in untrodden 
whiteness. They walked on in silence until 
they had passed beyond the lights of the 
club windows. 

“We were talking of women,” said Mortayne. 
—“in there.” 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“I,” said Langstreth, “was talking of one 
woman.” 

Mortayne laughed. “They are all alike,” 
he declared; “one or another. See here!” He 
pulled a sheet of crumpled, yellow paper out of 
his pocket and gave it to Langstreth, “ Read 
that.” 

They stopped beneath a gaslight and Archie 
spread the sheet upon the palm of his hand. It 
was a telegram, dated Washington and ad- 
dressed to Mortayne at his club. 

“Come and spend New Year's Day with me'' 
it said. “My husband is away." It was signed, 
“ Nina!' 

“Do you know her?” asked Mortayne. 

“ No.” 

“She is charming. She has the prettiest little 
figure in the world and the most fetching little 
French accent, and the ‘chicest* gowns — I 
am not so particular about the gowns.” 

“ Well,” said Archie, “ are you going?” 

“Going? Yes. How can I get out of it?” 

“ Do you think it fair?” 

“Fair? — to whom?” 

“To her husband — whoever he is.” 

17 


258 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETIL 

“He isn’t even a particular friend of mine. 
It would be unfair to her to stay away,” said 
Mortayne as he took the telegram and tore it 
to pieces. “ She has arranged everything now. 
I may have been to blame in the first place, 
perhaps, but now, when things have gone so 
far—” 

“How far?” 

“Far enough for her to get her husband out 
of the way — and send for me,” he explained 
with some irritation. “Besides there is no ex- 
cuse to give when a woman asks a man to 
spend New Year’s day with her.” 

“You might rake up an excuse somehow. 
You might even say you wanted to stay with 
your wife.” 

Mortayne gave another short laugh, “I 
should be a coward if I didn’t go,” he said. 

Langstreth had his own ideas on the subject 
of cowardice, “ I’d kill myself,” he declared, 
“ if there were no other way. I wouldn’t go 
into another man’s house like that; why it’s 
theft — worse.” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mortayne. “If a 
man leaves good booty unprotected he must 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 259 


expect to have it stolen. It is his own fault 
for not looking after the lock and key properly. 
You are not going to set up for the cardinal 
virtues, are you?” 

‘‘I am not setting up for anything,” said 
Archie. 

Just then the great house on the corner 
came into view. 

“By the way,” asked Mortayne, as they 
crossed the avenue, “what have you done with 
Pussy Le Clare?” 

“Done with her? Well, she’s married.” 

“Oh, oh!” 

“Yes, Clandon came up to the mark like a 
man.” 

“Clandon? Great God!” Mortayne’s laugh 
was louder this time. “So you managed it that 
way. And how about the child?” 

“It was born to-day, and Clandon is going to 
name it after me.” 

“You are a clever chap,” replied Mortayne 
with a shade of scorn in his voice. “I thought 
you were clever enough when I heard that 
Evelyn Thorne had taken the veil, but upon 
my soul this is better. And so the child will 


26 o 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


bear your name? There is something charm- 
ingly appropriate in that. Ah! here we are at 
home.” 

The huge house was brilliant with lights, but 
as they entered, the butler informed them that 
Mrs. Mortayne had not returned. 

“She keeps the gas burning as if there were a 
republican election going on,” said Valentine, 
as he gave the order for supper. 

“Will you not wait for your wife?” asked 
Archie. 

Mortayne led the way into a small apart- 
ment, circular in shape, perfect in decoration. 

“Wait?” he inquired, incredulously. “It is 
too late to begin to wait for each other now.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


It was not long, however, before Mrs. Mor- 
tayne arrived. There was a commotion at 
once in the hall, and several bells rang. 

“It means nothing/’ explained Mortayne 
indifferently. “They are ringing for her 
women; she has half a dozen. She spends 
fifty thousand a year on her clothes.’’ 

Then Viola entered. She wore a dress that 
was studded with diamond stars, and there was 
a galaxy of stars in her hair. When she saw 
Langstreth a smile illuminated her face, and 
she went toward him rapidly, with outstretched 
hands. 

“Oh! this is really a new year,’’ she said 
gladly. “I did not hope for such a surprise.” 
A sudden flush which came upon her cheek 
made her surpassingly beautiful. 

Then she turned to her husband and gave 
him the tips of her fingers. “You are quite a 
stranger, Valentine,” she went on. “Alys Van 
Hoffman asked me how you were, but Mrs. 
Ellistown knew more about you than I did.” 


262 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Thank you,” he said, “I am very well.” 

“Ah! so Mrs. Ellistown told us,” replied 
Viola, as she took a chair near Langstreth and 
began to pull off her long gloves. She was 
dressed in violet velvet, out of which her dia- 
monds gleamed like stars in a winter sky. 

Langstreth could only feast his eyes upon 
her loveliness. Her own heavy-lidded eyes 
seemed to hold a look of triumph in their calm 
scrutiny of him. 

She refused each delicacy as it was passed 
to her. “I can not eat,” she said, “but I will 
have some champagne.” When her glass was 
filled she raised it to her lips. “I shall not 
drink to your health, Archie, because that is 
perfect. But this is to your happiness.” 

“That is perfect, too,” he told her; but he did 
not tell her why. 

It was a little before midnight when Mor- 
tayne got up from the table. He rang the bell 
and summoned his valet, and gave orders for 
immediate departure. 

“Are you going away?” asked Viola. 

“Yes — to Washington.” 

Langstreth also rose. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 263 

“But you are not going,” said Mrs. Mortayne. 

“No — not to Washington.” 

They all went forward through the brilliant 
rooms into the great entrance hall. There 
were some leathern cases being carried out, 
and one of the footmen was holding Mor- 
tayne’s traveling ulster. 

“Good-bye,” he said. 

“Hold on,” cried Langstreth. “I will go with 
you, and you can drop me at the Knickerbocker.” 

“What nonsense; stay and finish your supper. 
There are ortolans; and Viola will amuse you,” 
he paused. Then he put his hand in his 
pocket and took out a key. He looked at it 
irresolutely, and then hung it upon a hook that 
projected from the mirror. “It is my latch 
key,” he said with deliberation. “I shall not 
need it.” He then shook hands with Lang- 
streth and kissed his wife. 

The front door opened and a gust of frost- 
ladened air rushed in. “Good-bye,” called out 
Viola, and with a little shiver she drew Lang- 
streth behind a portiere into the warm glow of 
the drawing-room. The door closed and they 
heard the brougham roll away. 




264 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

“I am not sure that I ought to have stayed,” 
said Archie. He regretted the words as soon 
as they were uttered. A look which he could 
not explain sprang to life in Viola’s eyes. 

“Oh!” she answered, “as to that you ought 
not to have come. It is the coming, not the 
staying that is the — weakness.” 

“If I were weak to come, at least I am strong 
to go.” 

She threw herself down upon a couch that 
had cloth-of-gold cushions and ivory feet with 
golden claws. 

“Now that you have come,” she said slowly, 
“you will stay.” 

“Stay? — here? Oh! In New York, you 
mean?” 

She laughed and shrugged her bare shoulders, 
the movement making all the jewels gleam. 
“Yes, in New York,” she said. Then she looked 
at him earnestly. “Tell me, what did you go 
to Canada for?” 

“For shooting,” he replied. He felt himself 
miserably weak that he did not tell her the 
truth; but something in her beauty and the 
exhilaration of her nearness sealed her lips. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


265 


“Now that you have come back I shall not let 
you go again. My chains will be of roses, but 
they will not break; you are wearing my rose 
to-night.” 

Langstreth’s hand went to his forehead as if 
he had been struck. 

“Yours? Oh, God!” 

Her smile was alluring. 

“How did you know I was coming home?” 
he demanded. “Who told you?” 

“Love.” 

“Viola! You — we must not talk like this. 
Love is beyond our reach. We have foregone 
it.” 

‘We risk nothing,” she replied, looking up 
at him with the old enigma in her eyes. 

Then he told her almost sullenly that he 
must go. 

“But why?” she asked with innocently arched 
eyebrows. He had advanced into the middle 
of the room and stood facing her as she re- 
clined upon the couch. “Never mind,” she 
went on. “If you will stay I will let you choose 
your own subjects of conversation since you do 
not approve of mine.” 


266 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


“Why should I stay?” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, it is late— for one thing.” 

“Late! There is no such thing as time.” She 
hesitated a moment with her heels upon the 
floor and her pretty embroidered toes turned 
up. “But I shall not keep you,” she added, 
with a little laugh. 

“You need not be afraid.” 

“I am not afraid.” 

“Yes you are. You are afraid of me.” 

“I am afraid of myself,” he said. 

She got up and went to his side. “Will you 
stay then?” 

“Stay — here?” 

She laughed and made a gesture of mock 
incredulity. “A little while — five minutes.” 

“Yes — or ten.” 

“Only five. Will you sit down?” 

He turned from one side to the other as if 
looking for a seat. 

“In that chair,” said Viola, pointing to a low 
ottoman which stood in the shadow of a rose- 
shaded lamp. 

Langstreth sat down. She then went to the 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 26? 

bell and touched it, and before the servant 
answered her summons she had resumed her 
own seat among the cloth-of-gold cushions. 

“I will lock the door;” she told the footman 
who appeared in the aperture of the portiere. 
“You may put out all the lights — except these 
and the hall lanterns. That is all, good-night.” 
She dismissed him with the wave of her hand. 

“Why do you send him away?” asked Archie. 

“To be alone with you,” she said. “All these 
footmen in livery weary me. I am tired to 
death of their striped waistcoats. Valentine’s 
one idea of happiness seems to be to have 
myriads of menials ready for action.” 

“I thought that was your idea of happiness.” 

“I have changed all that,” she replied with 
a shrug. 

Langstreth looked at her in her wealth of 
beauty, amid her imperial surroundings, robed 
in velvet, crowned with diamonds; and he 
wondered whether, after all, she had missed 
that happiness which she had always declared 
riches alone could bring. 

“Are you happy?” he asked her. 

She raised her delicate brows. “Happiness, 


268 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


my dear friend, is an expensive luxury. There 
is only one thing that can buy it.” 

“One thing?” 

She leaned over and touched his hand as it 
lay upon his knee. “Love.” 

“Only that one thing — love,” he repeated. 

“You love me, Archie.” 

“You make me miserable when you talk like 
this.” 

“But you love me.’” 

“Viola!” 

She lifted her hand. “Say ‘I love you?’ ” she 
commanded. 

“You know I love you,” he exclaimed. “I 
would — ” He broke off desperately, and getting 
up, went to the window and put his face against 
the cold pane. 

“You love me enough to be made miserable 
by me,” she said, rapidly, “but not enough — 
not nearly enough to be made perfectly happy 
by me.” 

He turned from the window, and she arose. 
They met in the middle of the room. She 
noticed that he was deathly pale, and when he 
held out his hand, which she took, it was cold. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 269 

“Good-bye.” 

“Oh! are you going?” 

“I must,” he told her. 

“Well, I will go into the hall with you,” she 
said, “and help you on with your overcoat. I 
ought to have kept Bernard up.” 

“I would rather have you.” 

“Oh! thank you;” and she laughed, making 
him a mock curtsey as they passed beneath 
the embroidered portiere. 

As she stood before the mirror she recon- 
fined a wayward curl which had become 
loosened from its place — she paused, a little 
sigh trembled her lips. There hung the key 
upon its silver hook, where her husband had 
left it. She hesitated; then she raised her 
right hand to it. 

“What time is it?” she asked, with forced 
unconcern, as if she were waiting for some- 
thing whose arrival was dreaded yet inevitable. 

Langstreth looked at his watch. “Almost 
twelve,” he said; “almost the new year.” 

“Let me see.” She went close to his side 
and took the watch in her hand. “You are my 
new year,” she said. 


2yO THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

Her breath fanned his face with warm 
fragrance; she put the watch back into his 
pocket slowly, with her right hand. 

At the same moment the midnight bells rang. 

Mrs. Mortayne threw open the great carved 
door, letting in the frosty air. Some snow 
crystals fluttered in and circled about her. 
“Welcome!” she cried, with a sort of childish 
gaiety which sat strangely upon the crowned 
woman. Then, turning to the man at her side, 
“So — I will open the door to you,” she said. 
“You, who are my New Year.” 

“Go back,” he commanded, sternly. “You 
will get cold.” 

“I shall never be cold again.” 

“ Go back.” Their hands met. 

“ Oh! How strong you are,” she said. 

“ Good-night!” 

When Langstreth got home he found the 
lamps still burning; he remembered that he 
had told his servant to go to bed, not intend- 
ing to be out late himself. He began to undross 
quickly, thinking that the oil must be far spent. 
There were a few coals still alive in the grate 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 


27I 


and he stirred them into a blaze and sat down. 
If the lamps went out there was gas he could 
resort to. He took a cigarette from his case 
and lighted it, indolently. He leaned back in 
the chair and put his feet upon a bank of cush- 
ions. A delicious sense of rest came over him, 
and he closed his eyes. 

No sound roused him but he suddenly started 
up with a curious feeling of surprise. It was 
dark. The lamps had burned out and the smell 
of oil met his nostrils. He put his hand into 
his pocket — a bell was ringing, and he won- 
dered what time it was. When he drew out his 
watch he felt a metallic substance strike its gold 
case. He got up and fumbled among his 
smoking paraphernalia for the matches; then 
he lighted the gas and the sudden glare made 
him shudder. 

It was two o’clock by his watch. He looked 
at the white face as it lay in his palm, and next 
to it was a key. 

He had carried no key. His own keys were 
together on a ring and chain; he pulled them 
roughly from the pocket of his trousers and 
counted them. They were all there. 


2 72 THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 

He went and stood beneath the flaring gas- 
jet; his eyes had grown accustomed to the 
glare, and he examined the key. There seemed 
nothing strange in it, save that it should have 
been in his pocket at all. Then something 
made him draw his breath quickly. There 
were two small letters engraved upon the flat 
portion of the key. These letters were V. M. 

“Viola Mortayne! Oh, God!” The cry was 
wrung from his heart. Then he laughed. 
“The key is Valentine Mortayne’s,” he said 
aloud, trying to steady his nerves. 

He laid it down upon the table. He felt 
cold from head to foot, and there seemed a 
hand of ice at his throat. 

He walked slowly from one end of the room 
to the other and back again. In front of his 
writing-table he stopped; there were the roses 
in the bowl, and upon the ground some leaves 
had fallen, like scented snow. A letter lay 
there, also, with its signature exposed; how 
well he knew that hand, how well he loved the 
name, how he had waited and longed for its 
coming. There, too, lay the key. 

Well, to-morrow he would send it back. 


THE LOYALTY OF LANGSTRETH. 273 

To-morrow? No, to-day — this first day of the 
New Year. He would send — it — back. Send 
it? Good God — take it! 

Two cold drops oozed out of his temples and 
ran slowly down his face to his throat. 

He stood perfectly still. Then, with averted 
eyes, he stretched out his hand and opened a 
drawer. Something gleamed wanly in the 
light. 

He moved slightly as if to examine this 
thing. There was a flash, a crash — a puff of 
smoke, and he fell forward to the floor where 
the dead rose leaves lay. 

THE END. 


New York, 1892. 

















































































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